


Long Night Encroaches on the Domains of Light

by rekishi



Series: No Home Should Be Shrouded in Darkness [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Elf Culture & Customs, Elf sutra, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Families of Choice, Hair appreciation, M/M, Pining, Uppity Bard makes Thranduil randy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 11:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 100,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5583778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rekishi/pseuds/rekishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Thranduil wonders what he did to deserve this lot in life: not only does he have to deal with obstinate children and unwelcome visitors from Imladris, but also with his impertinent council, which is far too interested in his private affairs. Meanwhile Bard, the King of Dale, would prefer his life to remain less complicated than it turns out to be yet again, when his neighbours arrive at his doorstep.</p><p>At the same time Thranduil wouldn't mind spending more time with his consort. </p><p>Though it looks like that wish, at least, is to be granted.</p><p> </p><p>--<br/><i>(No warnings truly apply, but this deals with the aftermath of violence, so proceed with caution if that is an issue for you.)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank all of you who stuck with me through the end! This has seen a lot of ups and downs writing, and I'm glad that I can post this now. Enjoy :)
> 
> Thanks also to the wonderful carmenta for betaing this monster and stopping me from running amok during the editing stage. 
> 
> The title originates in "The American Sparrow-Hawk" by John James Audubon.

Galion waited for him outside the council chamber during a break, which didn't bode well as his agenda was otherwise empty. "My Lord, the King of Dale has arrived."

This was, perhaps, the most welcome distraction from the never-ending council session currently in recess in the chamber behind him that Thranduil could imagine. He could not say that they ranked among his favourite ways to spend his time, which was why he scheduled them during the winter months when life in the Woods slowed down. If not some emergency required otherwise, that was. The council had been working together in an unchanged setting since the Last Alliance, which had not been easy in the beginning: Thranduil had been a new king, and most of the councillors had died with King Oropher; subsequently the group Thranduil found himself with had been as inexperienced in leading their settlements as him. Yet they were the most senior to be found, many of them widows or orphaned daughters of the past campaign, their husbands, fathers and brothers having died with their king. 

But that had been millennia ago and they had found a balance with each other. After all this time his realm was organised to peak efficiency and most decisions that required the council passed it unchallenged in brief perfunctory meetings throughout the year. Still everyone in charge had to regularly learn about the harvest and other matters of importance for all Wood-elves. His councillors generally assumed too much self-importance though, that needed tempering every so often and Thranduil was growing tired of it.

The summer had been unusually good, the food storage was full to bursting, silk and wool had been harvested to cover their own needs as well as export, and the wine cellar had been restocked with Dorwinion vintages as well. All told it had been an above average year and Thranduil expected an uneventful winter. The enemy was only waiting for them to drop their guard though, and they needed to maintain their watch and patrols. 

Upon Galion's words Núneth stepped out beside Thranduil and smirked. "I shall tell everyone you will be a moment, then."

Thranduil scowled at her, vexing as she was as speaker of the council — vexing because she'd known him the longest and had tested many times how to make him react, though on occasion she could be useful. Even if she got far too much glee out of this. But for now he pushed the thought aside and frowned at Galion. He had not expected to see anyone from Dale — let alone Bard — before the beginning of spring, with a long winter ahead and the weather prone to turning. Certainly it was no emergency that would hardly have required Bard to come in person, and they had quicker means of communication in that case. Shaking his head, Thranduil motioned Galion to lead on; the council could resume when he had settled matters with Dale's king.

He found Bard in the throne room, shivering despite the heavy coat and travel cloak he was wrapped in. Studying him, Thranduil noticed he once more favoured his right knee ever so slightly but otherwise looked hale enough. When Bard spotted him, he shook his head. "A big place like this will never be warm in winter."

"You may have noticed my people care little about the cold. And as you well know it makes for a pleasant climate the rest of the year," Thranduil answered and went to him, touched his shoulder briefly. "Who told you to wait here?"

"Myself," Bard said and grimaced in discomfort. "This is an official visit. I sent my men to garrison in your barracks, as usual."

"I fail to see the point in you freezing while I entertain my councillors." Thranduil herded him away from the throne and towards the living quarters where it would be more comfortable for them both. Out of everyone in the three kingdoms, Bard had no reason to present himself as a petitioner. "Is Dale still standing?"

Bard smirked. "I think you might have spotted the plume of smoke in the distance otherwise." He fell silent as they passed the pair of guards at the entrance to the family wing. "I didn't think this should wait until spring and I wanted to discuss it in person."

It sounded serious, though Thranduil kept his silence until they entered the lower solar. The room was warmer and was additionally heated by the brazier he had sent Galion to light. A carafe of mulled wine had been set out, and he felt how cold Bard's usually warm fingers were when he handed him a cup. Bard gave him a small smile in thanks and leaned in for a kiss that Thranduil was happy to grant, though Bard's lips and nose were as cold as his hands. Keeping busy that way, he slowly walked Bard backwards until their knees hit the cushioned bench and they sat. 

Bard sighed in quiet contentment. Thranduil drew his knee up and turned towards him, indicating the wine. "Would you like something else?"

Bard shook his head. "Thank you. Galion mentioned you were busy today."

"Council meeting, they have to wait for me." He smirked. "The prerogative of the king."

"Tell me about it," Bard said with a sigh, but it did not actually sound weary. He had grown well into his kingship, situations like this in which he would ask for advice — if that was his reason for making the trip — notwithstanding. "Go, I'll talk to you later. I won't go home today; I can wait until you're finished administrating your wine supply."

"Imagine, we finished that part already."

"I am genuinely shocked," Bard told him dryly and drained his cup, then rolled his shoulders to get more comfortable. 

Humming half an acknowledgment under his breath, Thranduil lingered for another kiss now that Bard's skin was warmer before he gathered his robes and his own cloak and swept out of the room. 

The rest of the meeting ran its course, though he received the occasional teasing glance. As he had ample practice ignoring those, they finished taking stock of the past year and setting a tentative schedule for the coming winter. By the time Thranduil exited the chamber once more, the light of day had faded and he could feel the cold taking on a new quality that spoke of snow. Well, Bard would not like it, but this was a possibility at this time in the season. 

He found Bard still in the solar, leafing through a book by turning the pages carefully and frowning down at them, not truly reading more than the chapter titles. A plate with crumbs sat by his feet. He glanced up by some instinct, closed the book and held it up with a smile. "Healing herbs? I thought athelas was your cure all?"

"Athelas grows where the Men of Númenor went, and even many of them have forgotten about it. You feed it to the pigs. Granted, it only got to the north through trade." Thranduil glanced at the book and raised an eyebrow. "I doubt there is useless knowledge in my library."

"A curiosity," Bard told him, answering the unspoken question about his sudden interest in literature before changing the topic. "I find myself in a position I never thought I'd be in."

Smiling, Thranduil collected a cup of still-warm wine and sat next to him, turning comfortably towards him again. "That sounds familiar." After all, Bard had never expected to continue his legacy as lord of his ancestral city, let alone be elevated to king. And even though it had been a handful of years, he still reached the occasional roadblock.

Consequently, Bard shot him an exasperated glance he returned in innocence. Bard let out a breath a moment later, then leaned forward ever so slightly. "I was approached by two of the villages to the east that we trade with." By now he had put away the book and glanced down at his hands fidgeting in his lap. "They know we're close to you and we have ties to Erebor, and they have been dealing with bandits from the north even before the death of Smaug. Apparently that has gotten worse. I can't say I noticed."

Dale's walls were strong and the city had acquired a reputation of being well protected over the last years. The lack of imminent threat didn't surprise Thranduil. "They want protection," he stated and Bard glanced at him in surprise.

"Worse, they want … me to be their king, too." His expression was anything but happy, though Thranduil had to admit it didn't come as a shock. "They want to pay a tax and be considered citizens of the kingdom of Dale."

For a moment Thranduil remained quiet, waiting for more, but when Bard fell silent and just looked at him, he shrugged. "That was to be expected sooner or later. You should be grateful your expansion will not be conducted with fire and sword. I imagine you would not relish that."

The incredulous stare would have been answer enough, but then Bard narrowed his eyes. "You knew this was coming."

"Of course," he pronounced and went to refill both their cups. Turned away from Bard he added, "It makes sense from their point of view, if they proactively turn to you they will not suffer later when Dale expands forcibly."

Accepting the refilled cup of wine, Bard frowned as Thranduil sat back down and knee brushed thigh. "Not everyone is interested in expansion."

"No?"

"You're not."

Thranduil raised both eyebrows in surprise. "And what makes you think that?"

It was a visible effort for Bard to swallow his wine and not choke. "You are?" he asked, voice more strained than usual. 

Considering his people's movements ever since Thranduil's father had settled them in what had once been known far and wide as Greenwood the Great, the indication indeed seemed to be the opposite, Thranduil always tried to push the borders further. The shadow from the south remained a problem, ever encroaching onto their territory, though for now nothing Thranduil's people could not deal with. "We face different obstacles, but given the chance I have the means and the will to increase my territory. What about your people?"

It took a while for Bard to digest this, but finally he answered, "I won't say we're bursting at the seams, especially if the Rohirrim decide to leave, but we have … capacities." Thranduil shot him a meaningful glance and Bard sighed in response. "You're saying I should do this."

"Will it hurt you or your resources?" Bard shook his head in the negative. "Then I think you have your answer." Ultimately he would have to arrive at the decision himself, for it was his kingdom, but Thranduil had long suspected Dale would not remain the local power it was now. The dynamics of Men did not work that way. 

"The wisdom of Elves," Bard complained, a common spiel between them on the few occasions when Thranduil refused him a direct answer. Consequently, his expression was humorous and Thranduil returned the smile; Bard had always done right by his people and he would continue to do so. Their tone changed when Bard added, "Sigrid gave me a list of books she asks to borrow until spring, Tilda wants to come to stay for a while after the winter. She's on edge about something, I can't tell what."

A father's instincts, no doubt. Thranduil couldn't say he had noticed anything amiss about Bard's youngest when he had last seen her in the late summer, but she had stopped being a child a while ago. He missed having Sigrid and Tilda reside in his halls part of the year, and Bain also, though his stay had never been meant to be extended. 

A quiet supper followed several hours later. It was just the two of them, for Legolas had once more attached himself informally to the guard. So far Feren had not reported any problems. 

Bard returned from the library — looking for Sigrid's books no doubt — shaking his head. It made Thranduil look up briefly from the message he was penning at the small writing desk in his bedroom before setting to finish it. "You Elves are the most gossipy creatures I have ever met," Bard said as he came over and carefully leaned against the desk to not jostle it, crossed his arms over his chest. 

Raising an eyebrow, Thranduil signed the order and set the quill aside, glanced up. "Oh?"

"Not only am I hearing about it behind closed doors anymore, I'm positive they have stopped caring whether I hear it at all." He picked up Thranduil's hand and idly rubbed at a non-existent ink stain. 

Curling his fingers, Thranduil returned the grip, then slid his hand around and linked their fingers. "What is it you hear, then?"

"Just about the King of Dale and _the King_ , by which I assume they mean you. And how much your mood is improved. Truly, I'm more surprised by hearing it than them saying it." Bard didn't appear unduly worried, though his eyes held an inquisitive spark.

Smirking, Thranduil shrugged. "You have been coming and going from my halls for over seven years now without interference, do you imagine anyone would be permitted that much who had no place here?"

"Probably not," Bard acknowledged and leaned down to end the discussion by pressing their mouths together. Thranduil yielded to the kiss without hesitation, let himself be dragged into a standing position and maneuvered backwards towards the bed. 

The room was warm, but Thranduil could still see goosebumps rising on Bard's skin in the wake of his touch after they disrobed, a reaction that hadn't changed over the years. He kissed Bard's drawn-up knee and rested his chin on it while stroking his hand along his leg, seeking for the damage and pushing enough power into the joint to encourage it to heal. This time it wasn't major. "I wish you would stop whatever it is you continue doing to your knee," he told Bard, searching his eyes for the tell-tale moment when the healing took hold.

Smiling, Bard pushed himself into a sitting position, abdominal muscles flexing, and threaded one hand into Thranduil's hair, gently bumped their noses. "It's called aging, and it's progressive. You might as well get used to it."

None of it was news, Thranduil was aware of Bard becoming older, though he was still in superior health and would likely continue to be. A lingering legacy of an Elvish ancestor that lay further back than the coming of the Sindar to the Greenwood. He would stay free of the diseases that affected mortals in old age and made them waste away on the inside. It could not stop age and its associated quirks, but this was nothing like that anyway. This was Bard simply not being as careful as he was supposed to be.

Now Thranduil hummed in consideration. "I might, when that is the cause of it." With that he leaned forward to close the small distance between them and caught Bard's mouth in a kiss that quickly deepened. He pushed him back into the cushions with gentle force and followed along, never breaking contact between them. Bard moaned quietly into the kiss when Thranduil started teasing him, alternating touches between light and intense. Bucking his hips, he sought for more contact and it didn't take long for their breath to quicken.

Sleep was a long time in finding them that night. They didn't notice when the snow started falling outside. 

Thranduil frowned at the vista the next morning as he joined Bard at the overlook in the solar where he stood wrapped in a thick pelt cloak. The wind had picked up considerably overnight, bringing more snow and accompanying drifts than was typical this early in the season. Some trees were buried in drifts half up their trunks and the bare skeletal branches were stark contrasts to the pristine white. The sky was grey and threatened more snow, the wind was still harsh and even Thranduil felt the chill uncomfortably through his layers of clothing. 

Frowning, Bard asked, "Did you know about this?"

"I expected the snow, but not this." 

"You can predict a strong winter, but not a brewing storm?" Bard sounded incredulous. 

Thranduil shook his head. "Not this time. Even if I had, did you expect me to let you ride straight into a blizzard?"

At this Bard set his jaw, keeping his silence. He knew he would not return to Dale now, the roads and paths would be treacherous and he clearly didn't like it. Thranduil knew him well, and in these moods it was hard to speak with him; still for several more long moments he remained by Bard's side, waiting whether something might not be forthcoming. But Bard was seething at nature and his own inability to change the situation, so eventually Thranduil shook his head and turned around to leave. 

Gales of wind continued to gust through the woods all day and it started to snow once more before night fell. Early snows often thawed out within a few days, but the temperatures had plummeted unexpectedly despite the overcast sky. 

It was late when Bard joined Thranduil in his sleeping chamber and sat on the bed. He took a breath. "I overreacted." Thranduil shot him a glance and Bard rolled his eyes. "I'm aware you can't actually control the weather."

"That is a relief," Thranduil told him in his driest tone before he got up from the bench where he'd been reading and came to stand in front of him. Bard held his gaze and Thranduil stroked a thumb over his cheekbone, evening stubble rasping over his skin. "I would rather have you here than frozen solid on the way. I can feel the frost in the air and more coming from the north."

Leaning into the touch Bard broke eye contact and nodded. "I almost expected that. I need to tell the children. Do you know of a bird that will fly in this weather?"

Children, the term made Thranduil smile. One of those children had a child of her own by now and even Tilda was of age already. But Bard was their father and that would never change. "Tomorrow," he said. "The weather calls for lounging in the baths. Will you join me?"

With a lopsided smile Bard took his hand. "Since when do you need an excuse as mundane as the weather for that?"

~*~

Somewhat predictably, Bard didn't react well to the enforced tranquillity that was winter in the Woodland Realm over the next few days. In semi-peaceful times like this, life slowed down considerably during the cold season, Thranduil's people remained indoors and took time for themselves. Only Thranduil himself would be truly busy for a while, wrapping up the seasons past and evaluating the ones to come. Goshawks had carried messages between the Woods and Dale; Bain, Sigrid and Tilda reassuring Bard to stay as long as the roads were unsafe while Bain took charge of the city for the winter.

Several mornings after the storm and with more snow falling, Bard sat up in bed while Thranduil got dressed and stared at him in exasperation. Since Bard had arrived, Thranduil had let him sleep in the mornings; there were no duties he had to perform, and after a house full of people including a small child, Thranduil thought he might as well make use of the rest. He hadn't taken into account that Bard had lived a life spent rising before dawn.

"Do I want to know why I have so many clothes here?" Bard asked from the bed, lifting his tunic from yesterday up from the floor. "I'm sure I never left anything resembling these quantities."

"We have your measurements," Thranduil told him absently. "You especially should know it is far too cold to go naked. Though I personally have no objections." Instead of the expected flirtatious smile he received a scowl. He stopped buttoning his tunic and sat down next to him. "You have no reason to be worried about Dale."

"I know. What am I doing here?"

"Getting some rest, I should hope. What would you do in Dale this season?"

Bard tilted his head, then shrugged. "Make provisions in case the next year will be bad, speak with people, make sure we have enough wood."

Even with his son and a son-in-law living with him, of course Bard would still insist on labouring himself. Thranduil shook his head. "I have a feeling matters are not so different here in many aspects." He knew Bard was spoken of highly among the Elves and would be welcomed by any of them if he chose to approach them. "And there is the library."

Bard narrowed his eyes. "Somehow I don't see myself carrying stacks of your old tomes around for pleasure."

"You might be surprised," Thranduil told him with a smile and leaned in to kiss him. "Of course I could think of other activities to do for pleasure."

"Don't you have a council meeting?" Bard murmured against his lips, but didn't seem inclined to actually stop any time soon and instead slipped a hand into Thranduil's half-buttoned tunic.

"Prerogative of the king," he answered between kisses and with a few quick motions discarded his clothes again. Feeling Bard smirk against his lips he allowed himself to lay his responsibilities aside for the day. The winter would be long yet.

He drew a sigh out of Bard, trailing a hand over his chest and his nails down his back. The goosebumps still rose in his wake and he broke the kiss and placed nips down his throat, sucked blood to the surface at the juncture of neck and shoulder. He could feel Bard's throat work, breaths audible and warm against his ear. 

"I like the way you think," Bard whispered, tangling his fingers in Thranduil's hair in a way long familiar and all the more intimate for it. Thranduil chuckled and scraped his teeth over the spot of blood he had raised, then soothed it with his tongue. Bard gasped and shivered with pleasure and Thranduil kissed his way lower, stopping briefly to bite a nipple before continuing. It made Bard jerk a little and gasp again, and when Thranduil glanced up his pupils were blown wide and both their hearts racing. Smirking he continued lower yet, too slow for Bard's liking but not letting himself be hurried. He knew Bard's body well, knew what felt good and what he had to do to keep him just on the edge.

He nipped at the crease of Bard's hip to make him jump and buck up. The scent of Bard was around him, heady and familiar and for a few moments Thranduil let himself taste, his left hand linked with Bard's right. A moan broke through the harsh breaths, making him smug and scoot up the mattress again. They continued kissing, leaving words for later, and Bard dug a thumb into the muscles of his back, giving him a counterpoint to focus on. When their arousal had ebbed a little lower Bard shallowed his kisses and pushed at Thranduil to make him roll over. 

He brushed a fingertip over one of Thranduil's nipples and grinned at the reaction before moving away and reaching for the little bottle of oil Thranduil kept on the chest at the side of his bed. Another kiss and then their eyes locked before Bard started touching him with clear intentions and Thranduil stopped giving further thought to anything else.

When they had calmed again he held Bard against him, an arm around his waist, and rested his lips against the nape of his neck, the tips of Bard's hair tickling a little. His other hand stroked low over Bard's stomach, paying close attention to muscles and the fine hair there. A small caress without intent. They didn't see each other often enough, even though Thranduil spent several weeks each summer in Dale, to enjoy this kind of lazy extravagance often. Thranduil had lived long enough to admit that he missed this easy intimacy an arm's reach away. Both of them had their own duties and hence knew they needed to make use of the opportunities they had, especially this unexpected gift of time.

For now, he enjoyed the warmth of Bard's skin, though, and kissed his shoulder. At this Bard turned around in Thranduil's arms and said, "You assume I'll find something to occupy my time with." When Thranduil raised his eyebrows suggestively, Bard snorted and pressed their mouths together, took up the thread once more when they parted, "Aside from this. Though this is very nice."

"Indubitably so," Thranduil told him in answer to both. 

Their days continued much along that pattern. When he didn't wake Bard while readying himself in the mornings, Thranduil usually met him in the afternoon when the light was already fading. The closer to midwinter they got, the shorter the days grew, and as every year he could feel a restlessness in his people. They waited for the festivities, they wanted for the days to lengthen again, as it marked the time to start thinking about the balmy warmth of the sun.

By now the lowest layers of snow were ice crusted and would be slow in leaving and the temperatures were continually in the range where even the Elves began to complain. Bard had accepted that he would spend the winter with Thranduil, made noises that the perks of it were not to be frowned upon. The waterfalls in the great hall were reduced to a trickle since the rivers were frozen and even the spiders were not stirring. This was a fact that didn't agree with Legolas.

"Ada, I'm sure something will come of this," his son told Thranduil, staring intently at a map and tapping his finger at a point beyond the river that did not belong to the territory they nominally occupied any longer. 

Thranduil shook his head. "We have no indication and I doubt it will change before spring. Charging now when they are no threat to us at present will just provoke them."

In answer Legolas stared at the map as if it held any revelation for him. Shaking his head, Thranduil glanced up when he heard steps on the stairs. Bard, dressed for the outside and bringing the smell of snow and forest with him, reached the lower landing of the study and spotted them at the desk. 

"Am I interrupting?"

Thranduil glanced at Legolas in question, but his son merely shook his head. "No, I had all my questions answered." He rolled up the map to take with him, nodded at Bard and left. 

When he couldn't hear the faint echo of Elvish steps anymore, he caught Bard's questioning glance. "Is he all right?"

"He is young." Thranduil sighed. "And reckless."

For a moment Bard didn't say anything, then—because he was also a father to adventurous children and knew what he was talking about—he inquired, "That reminds me a bit too much of Tilda. Do you think he will do something?"

It was a thought worth deliberating over, but eventually Thranduil had to shrug. Legolas had much left to learn, yet he wasn't usually careless with the safety of the kingdom. "Who can say?"

To his credit, Bard gave the topic a rest and unslung the cloak from around his shoulders. "Can I ask why your people bring fodder to the forest animals?"

"Because we care about sustainability," Thranduil told him and collected a stack of notes he intended to work on later. "When we assume there won't be enough forage, we feed. If we are to avoid a shortage in our own food supply next season the answer is to provide sustenance. There are too many of us to chance a true shortage. We had long periods when we only needed to do it occasionally, but it has become more common for the winters to be this cold."

"I don't remember winters ever being anything but bitterly cold, even when I was little."

Thranduil acknowledged that with an absent sound as he skimmed over a missive from Duinhir that had been transcribed from one of the finches. Then he discarded the paper to wait until the next day and walked to the stairs, kissed Bard quickly in passing. "The reason for that might be the span of a mortal life," he told him. He hesitated for a moment, but over the years Bard had learned much of what was wrong with the world, of which the dragon he had killed was merely a symptom. "Something has been influencing the weather, volcanic activity elsewhere most likely. I doubt it will by itself be a matter to worry about."

Bard scowled when they reached the landing of the stairs. "I'm not sure I like it." But when invited him to elaborate he shook his head. "I, too, can feel the frost when it sets in."

At this Thranduil shot him a quizzical smile, but didn't receive an answer this time. Instead Bard asked once more about which of the wood's animals received fodder and Thranduil used the opportunity to point out it might not be a problem if the Woods were not under the shadow. He had to admit that Legolas was right as far as that matter went, but Thranduil still didn't think it was worth risking his people in a pursuit that would diminish their numbers now, when they needed them later. 

Over the course of the next weeks, Bard could be found with disparate groups of Elves on duty, largely duties that did not exist in Dale quite like this, like silk weaving. It amused Thranduil, though he was glad if it distracted Bard from being too cooped up and the King of Dale seemed to genuinely enjoy himself.

~*~

The year had long turned in Dale, yet the snow would still not yield even though Thranduil could feel a warmer breath of air ghosting across the land already. Council duties were long over and he had taken to spend more time with Bard. Over the weeks and months of this winter, Bard had established a routine for himself that fit well with Thranduil's own.

Right then Bard frowned down at a game board and shook his head, threw the dice and moved several of his chips. He was shockingly good at this game — "A legacy of a youth wasted in taverns, hustling," he had answered when Thranduil had first remarked on it — and they were both competitive enough that Thranduil had considered playing for stakes. Though of course, letting it escalate to gambling away their respective kingdoms might be a bad idea. 

Resting his chin in his hand, still studying the board, Bard broke their comfortable silence and said conversationally, "It has come to my attention that some of the Elves might want to settle in Dale for … industrious purposes."

Thranduil glanced up and caught his eyes, concealing his own surprise. "And what is your take on this?"

"Why are you asking me? Elves moving to Dale is covered under our contract." Clearly Bard had given this some thought and Thranduil leaned back in his chair to hear him out. They both also knew what industrious purposes these might be: direct trade contracts with the Dwarves, which so far Thranduil did not maintain. Bard shrugged, caught his eyes briefly. "I don't think they talked to me because I'm the King of Dale. Or because they need my permission."

No, they would go to Bard because they knew he would speak to Thranduil on their behalf without names and faces. Thranduil fancied himself a good and just king, if strict in the interpretation of his own law, but sometimes a go-between would diffuse tensions, and the matter of the Dwarves certainly would cause those. This extended time in the Woodland Realm had cemented the views many of the Elves had held before that Bard's place now was as much here as in Dale. Not only had he slain a dragon, he was well-liked among Thranduil's people and they knew he was by their king's side.

"No," Thranduil confirmed and rolled the dice, removed two of his chips. "They imagine the king will listen to the consort even when he refuses to consider other propositions."

At this Bard's eyes narrowed before he snorted and shook his head ever so slightly and finished his next move. They rarely defined what they were to each other, but certainly it wasn't a surprise. Bard's next words were playful and almost coy, confirming that suspicion, "And how will the most fabulous Elvenking decide?"

"My people are free to do as they please within the sphere of my interest, and you already pointed out that our contract covers this." He had no doubt that whoever was concerned would learn this and then take appropriate action, with the side-effect that any such action could not be traced back to Thranduil. He allowed himself a small inward smile. Bard was not the only one who could bat his eyelashes. "Sufficiently fabulous?"

Instead of answering Bard cleared the board of his chips with his next move and got up. Thranduil watched as he stepped up to his chair and leaned down to brace his hands on the carved arm rests. Sentimentality was not something either of them could be accused of and instead of saying something that might be construed as such, Bard looked at him unabashedly, searching. Thranduil in turn studied him. More grey in his hair than there had been years ago, but only a few more lines in his face, mostly around the eyes. Better food and fewer health concerns had alleviated many of the stresses that let Men age prematurely. 

Eventually Bard leaned in and kissed him quickly and close mouthed before drawing back and stepping out of Thranduil's reach. At this Thranduil turned around to look after him, smiling to himself once more before he pushed himself up and went to follow. He caught up with him in front of the bed and hauled him in, and Bard's arms went around him in turn, chin resting on his shoulder. 

They remained like that for a while until Bard sighed. "Don't tell the children, but I could get used to this."

Chuckling Thranduil tightened his arms slightly. A fancy, no more, yet one he liked to entertain. "Careful," he whispered back, quiet enough that he didn't know whether Bard even heard him, "or I just might take you up on it."

The thaw came almost overnight and for days afterwards the whole forest was a symphony of dripping water and birdsong; everyone who stepped out came back covered in mud up to their hips. 

Bard's winter in the Woodland Realm was coming to an end.

Thranduil entered his study with Galion on his heels, his aide carrying parting gifts over his arms. "My Lord Bard," Thranduil announced in high spirits, which earned him an alarmed look from the king in question.

"What do you want now?" Eyes narrowed Bard stopped packing up the few notes he had accumulated during his stay. 

Rolling his eyes, Thranduil stopped and Galion handed him the first piece of fabric. "Always so suspicious."

"Usually when you start like that I'm in for a surprise. One time you decided to make me king, so forgive me for expecting the worst."

"And that turned out for the best," Thranduil reminded him. "Now, this is related after a fashion. Since you will finally have a proper kingdom..." He smiled beatifically when a glower was shot his way. "You require the necessary props." With those words he unfolded the banner and held it into the light so Bard would be able to see it. "One of those is a proper coat of arms."

Eyes wide, Bard stepped up and reached out a hand to touch the heavy silk, deeply green reminiscent of the forest in the heights of summer, the gold thread the thrushes and the arrow were stitched in. The two birds were depicted in full flight, mirroring each other, the same way they had on the coat of arms of the Dale of old, the arrow shooting between them. After several heartbeats of profound silence, Bard glanced up. "Why?"

"Because Dale deserves her insignia back and this was the best opportunity for it," Thranduil explained. "Your ancestors used their signature birds that still know you today, though on a brown field. The arrow is yours, the green is that of the forest. This is your kingdom."

He folded the banner up again and carefully handed it to Galion. Meanwhile Bard shook his head. "Where do you suppose I keep this? It is extraordinary work, what do I do with it?"

He seemed so genuinely confused that Thranduil couldn't help but laugh a little. "I suggest you talk to the Dwarves whether they won't dig you a treasury below the palace. I do have a few suggestions—"

"Of course you do," Bard interrupted in a resigned tone. Thranduil gave him a lopsided smile and took the armour from Galion that he then handed to Bard. Richly tanned boiled leather over a chain hauberk, breastplate and shoulder guards edged with the thrushes of Dale. Bard stared at it. "You cannot be serious."

"Your people, especially the people in your new territories, will want you to look a king. Remember when you met Glorfindel?" Thranduil brought that time up deliberately, because he knew it would prove a point. Bard seemed to remember the night that particular Elf lord — granted, he was one of the high and mighty Noldor, their standards were different — had barely even recognised Bard as King of Dale even with the crown on his brow, and grimaced. "Wear it when you ride to those villages. Wear it should war find you and you will be protected, pass it on to Bain when it is his turn to wage your battles."

Bard pressed his lips together and let out a long breath. "I can't dissuade you, can I?"

"I can hardly wear it with the insignias of Dale blazoned upon it now, or what do you think?" When Bard smirked and raised an eyebrow, Thranduil wanted to answer when Galion cleared his throat behind him. Instead of saying what was on the tip of his tongue, Thranduil shot him a lopsided smile and asked, "Are you ready?"

Nodding, Bard weighted the armour in his hands once more before carefully bundling it up. He nodded.

~*~

The ride into Dale was uneventful. Thranduil had decided to join Bard weeks ago to have a look at the city after this winter as much as to prove to him that Bain was well able to handle himself. Their arrival was timed for the late afternoon with an hour's light left to the day. People were still in the fields, milling in the streets inside the city and some hailed Bard. Around the palace hill everything was quiet, only Sigrid and Eryn awaited them.

She waved, a grin on her face, the baby on her hip. "Have you had a nice holiday, Da?"

"Should have braved the storm," Bard murmured and rolled his eyes when Thranduil shot him an unimpressed glance. Sighing, he dismounted and let her hug him before he stroked over his granddaughter's head. "Don't even joke about that."

She laughed and then looked towards Thranduil. "I see the two of you have managed to keep each other company," she said and stepped up to him, hoisted the toddler up and deposited her unasked in Thranduil's arms. "I'm glad you came too, then I can take Da to look at and approve of our new field management. Cúthalion is on duty. Here you go to Ada Thranduil." She kissed first her daughter and then brushed her lips quickly over Thranduil's cheek, admonishing, "Behave."

It wasn't entirely clear at whom those words were directed but Thranduil merely raised an eyebrow and received a brilliant grin in return, the spitting image of her father. With those words she whisked Bard away and Thranduil was left watching them vanish beyond the palace wall. Their mounts had already been taken away to be taken care of, so Thranduil was indeed free to care for Sigrid's daughter, who clutched at his hair, pulling painfully. 

"Ada!"

Snorting involuntarily, Thranduil gently extracted the strands of his hair from her grasp and murmured, "Now don't let your real Ada hear that." He could only imagine what Cúthalion would have to say about his daughter adopting the same familial term towards Thranduil as his wife had. Any outward objections would be stepping out of line, but he likely would not be too happy. 

Sighing Thranduil kept talking to Eryn on his way to the palace; the girl had grown a lot while he hadn't seen her and become a lot heavier as well. She was a few months shy of two years old now, and so far she followed along the development of mortal children, the only indication of her Elvish heritage the shape of her ears. Thranduil knew well that might change quickly enough.

Sigrid had gone into labour several weeks too early, followed by a frantic afternoon and late night that had put everyone in the household on edge. While Bard had been almost more nervous than Cúthalion, he had kept his head about that situation; after all he had three children of his own and was probably familiar with this possibility much more than the Elvish inhabitants of Dale. 

She'd had no milk at first, but that concern had stepped to the background when she had continued bleeding sluggishly and developed a fever. Thranduil had originally been in Dale for negotiations, but had been glad he was there when she started complaining of pain and the bleeding and fever had grown worse. At that point Bard had turned into a walking shadow of himself and even Thranduil had barely managed to get through to him. Puerperal fever had killed Sigrid's mother after Tilda's birth, and he wasn't ready to lose his daughter to it as well. 

Childbirth was tricky in the best of circumstances, and Thranduil had always been thankful that his own people were not susceptible to the same dangers of it, but he did worry about Sigrid and Tilda. The people of Dale sometimes appealed to the Elves in their midst for help with health concerns, and ever since the girls had lived in Thranduil's halls they had never been concerned about illnesses again, but it didn't change the dangers they still lived with. Cúthalion had sat vigil at his wife's bedside, had tried healing her and stayed with her through the aftermath, something Thranduil would have also done in his stead had he not been there. As things had stood then Thranduil had tried to keep Bard grounded, succeeding only partially but enough to eventually make him see reason. It had been one of the few occasions in their time together he had been genuinely angry with Bard for the way he'd lost his head, but yelling at each other had at least put him in the mind to listen.

Sigrid had recovered, the baby had been slightly premature and small, but she had healthy lungs and was drinking well when her mother could finally feed her. 

And almost two years later Thranduil held her in his arms and sang to her of the circle of the year, the constant of the ages. She babbled along for a while, syllables that were not quite words in two languages, until she grew tired and was almost asleep. He kissed her forehead and stroked over her soft, dark baby hair before he put her in her bed in the sitting room in the back where it was warm. She was more fragile than Thranduil's own sons had been, or Duinhir's children, but if the rest of her family was any indication she would grow out of it. 

That was the moment Bain entered, unslinging his coat from around his shoulders. He stopped short when he spotted Thranduil. "Does you being here mean we're expanding territory?"

"It means your father is back, whom you also might ask this question," Thranduil answered coolly.

He received a grin in return. "You spent six month lecturing me about what people want in a king, I always knew what you would tell him. I think he was aware of that too, but I understand why he wanted to ask you in person."

Because Bard still considered the Elves and the Dwarves the guaranteeing powers of his rule, even if that had never been true in a strict sense. 

That night Thranduil extricated himself from Bard's embrace, rousing him in the process. Clearly, Bard was back at home and back to being instantly alert for emergencies. Thranduil kissed his forehead and lingered for a few heartbeats. "Sleep or I shall make you," he threatened, tone not serious.

"Wouldn't," Bard muttered back, but retracted his arm from around Thranduil's chest with a smile. Thranduil smiled as well and bent down once more to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling on his clothes. 

Out in the hall he heard Eryn start to fuss, followed immediately by Cúthalion's voice singing a lullaby that he hadn't heard since Legolas had slept in a crib. He had sung it to his own children, a long time ago, and remembered it from his own childhood in the relative peace of Doriath. To hear it in Dale should not have surprised him, though he was pleased it was still known and carried into a new generation.

Leaving the house, he wandered the streets of the city, dark and deserted but for guards and a few stragglers. A figure on the battlements caught his attention, and he recognised Bain in the light of the waxing moon. Early in Bard's rule he and Thranduil had spent many late nights there talking — and still sometimes did, though these days they preferred their bed — and Bain seemed to favour that spot as well.

"I keep hearing about Men needing so much rest," Thranduil said and stepped up to him. 

Bain glanced at him, then turned again and strained his eyes to look out into the darkness. "I'm often awake at this time, I've slept already and I'll go back. But this is better than lying awake and thinking about too many things." When he didn't elaborate further Thranduil didn't press him. Bain was young, many of his concerns would solve themselves as time went on. "Da is looking great, even better than Sigrid and Tilda after you first took them away. I think he's doing much better."

"You make it sound as if I stole your sisters," Thranduil answered and Bain shook his head. Then the last sentence truly registered. He had found nothing wrong with Bard except for the knee issue, but maybe something had afflicted him in passing. "Has he been sick?"

Huffing a breath, Bain shrugged. "No. You don't know this, but winters have been difficult for a little while. He never says anything, of course, but I can see it. Aches and pains, it adds up, I guess. And the cold creeps in, even if we try to keep it out. You haven't noticed anything?"

Thranduil considered. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"That's an advantage of Mirkwood then." Thranduil shot Bain a punishing look for calling his realm that and he winced. "Sorry. But it bears further consideration. Da lived harder than us, you know? I mean we never went hungry—" He stopped there and frowned. "Come to think of it, maybe Da did. In bad years, when we couldn't get the right kind of food, I think we had a few close calls. And I hate to think he's now paying the price, though of course I know others are as well."

"Other people are not your father, though," Thranduil finally said. In answer to this Bain gave a grim nod and Thranduil could guess at what he was thinking. He couldn't truly judge whether Bain was exaggerating or not, but with the health of mortals he had learned to err on the side of caution. Still, he thought he'd learned a lot about the resident Dragonslayer over the years and he knew how much he had chafed at his unexpected stay in Thranduil's realm, all associated little pleasures aside. He understood what Bain might be planning. Having Bard in his realm over the winter more often did have an undeniable appeal. Carefully he added, "You know he will never acquiesce to what you are thinking, no matter whether he benefits from it."

Bain slid his gaze towards him. "Leave that to me. I only need your permission."

"Withholding that would hardly stop your sisters, why should it stop you?"

Grinning, Bain shook his head. "Well, I _am_ going to be king one day, I thought it would be best not to overplay my hand with the Elvenking. Though Dáin would probably laugh his head off."

"Fool that he is," Thranduil murmured but didn't rise to the bait. "I refuse to be directly involved in your plans. I will, however, not oppose them should they come to fruition."

"Why did I expect a different answer from you?"

Thranduil smiled at him before turning to leave. "You lived in my halls for half a year, I would indeed think you knew better. Good night."

Bain laughed and bid him a good night as well and Thranduil retraced his steps to join Bard in bed, who pulled him close and pressed a sleepy kiss to his mouth. His aim was slightly off, but Thranduil appreciated the effort and tilted his head marginally to make it a proper kiss. 

"What was that about?" Bard mumbled, still half asleep. He was warm beneath the covers and Thranduil rested his hand on his hip, absently drawing tiny circles with his thumb.

"Your son plans to remove you from Dale and rule in your stead," he answered and could see Bard's eyes open at that, trying to pierce the darkness, still heavy with sleep.

"And what was your answer to this … proposition?"

Shrugging, Thranduil leaned in and said a breath away from his lips, "I told him I want no part in his plans."

"How reassuring," Bard answered, tone dry and clearly thinking it a joke, then moved in that last hair's breadth to complete the kiss. Thranduil slid his arm around to stroke his fingertips up and down his back, a gesture more to reassure than to arouse, kept the kisses lazy. Neither of them was looking to get up to acrobatics tonight, and he didn't think Bard had any intentions at all beyond the slide of lips and tongue, legs entangled. Eventually he sighed and shifted even closer, resting his face in the crook of Thranduil's neck and slinging an arm around him. "Sleep now, you're riding again tomorrow."

Thranduil acknowledged that with a hum under his breath. "You forget I have no requirement for sleep."

"I have it on good authority that you like it," Bard told him, halfway there himself already. "And I like you in my bed."

"What a gracious profession," Thranduil answered, but Bard was already asleep. He smiled, regretting that both of them would be alone in their own beds again the next day, and let himself slip under.

~*~

"I can look out for myself, Thranduil," Tilda complained as she stood in his study where he was answering missives.

He glanced at her briefly, took in the stubborn look in her eyes. "I know this, yet I care very little," he told her. 

"You know that you can't actually command me to stay here anymore and that I'm free to just do as I want?" 

And this was where she was mistaken. His eyes still on the transcription of a message from Dáin, of all people — that included the usual insults disguising an almost polite inquiry whether Thranduil intended to make war on the Mountain if the Dwarves started dealing with the Elves that had defected to Dale recently — he said, "No one traverses this kingdom without leave of its King, Tilda. This King happens to be me and I refuse you that dispensation. Was that clear enough?"

"You taught me yourself, you and Cúthalion, you know I can hold my own! I don't need an escort!" 

Sighing quietly to himself he reminded himself that usually he was glad when one of the royal family of Dale came to visit, and that Sigrid and Bain had been too tied up in their own duties to do so much. "And because it was me and Cúthalion I have to admit my surprise we even have this discussion."

"You just don't want Da to find out." A frown was on her face. 

"I would mostly prefer for the next time I see your face not to be on some Orc's loincloth," he told her icily and heard her suck in a breath, knowing she had gone too far. Years ago when she had first murmured about going to the forest alone — even the still healthy parts under Thranduil's governance — he had sent both her and Sigrid to Cúthalion and outright ordered him to tell them what he had seen the day his mother and his Queen had died. 

To this day no one knew who or what was responsible — the carnage had been too uncharacteristic for Orcs, no trophies had been taken, too little had been eaten for wolves, and other animals gone so berserk as to tear Elves apart so completely would have sniffed out the Elfling hidden in a hollow beneath tree roots. Cúthalion had come upon a scene dripping with blood when he, a young soldier in the guard, had been sent out to investigate why the Queen's delegation had stayed out longer than expected. It had been a sight no one who had laid eyes on it would ever forget and under different circumstances Thranduil would never force anyone to recall it, but he had been worried Tilda might throw caution to the wind if consequences weren't impressed upon her. It had been a kindness to tell Legolas, the only survivor of that day, a different tale everyone had agreed upon. 

Thranduil also had to admit to himself that an escort would likely not have made a difference. All of Thranduil's people knew how to fight; ever since the Last Alliance he simply didn't have the numbers left to spare anyone, no matter their position or circumstances. He had to wrench his thoughts away from the memory. Little good that had done, not that he would tell as much to Tilda. She didn't lack in stubbornness or courage compared to most of the Elves in whose midst she had grown up, yet sometimes he worried those very traits might land her in bigger complications than situations warranted.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Then she took heart once more. "I still think—"

"Tilda." Just the sound of her name had her stop dead in her tracks, lips pressed together. Wordlessly she asked for permission to leave and, when he nodded almost imperceptibly while not even looking at her, she hurried up the stairs and out of his presence. 

When he knew her back was turned, he looked up and briefly glanced after her. His feelings still lingered on the past and he looked towards the pool's still surface to collect his thoughts. It was the task of the living to cherish the lives given as well as those taken, and dwelling on loss ran counterintuitive to that. He had long accepted that.

He would send his reply personally to Dáin, carefully drafted to state in clear obscurity that there was no dissent among the Elves. Trade links to the Dwarves in both Moria and Erebor had existed in Dale for the duration of its existence and even before when it had been little more than a single farmstead acting as a waystation. The north had stood on its own for millennia and the resident powers had long learnt to stand together in a sometimes uneasy truce. Thranduil was willing enough to re-establish alliances of the past, but recent history of this age had complicated matters to a certain extent. His people taking matters into their own hands… At the very least it would be good to have a larger Elvish presence now that Dale was expanding its territory and likely be relieved of some of its population in due time. 

This development was brought to his attention again a few weeks later when Galion entered his study one afternoon while Thranduil discussed sightings of spiders with Legolas and Feren. So far they followed preordained patterns, which worried Legolas but seemed to please his guard captain. Thranduil was mostly satisfied they didn't encroach any further onto his territory.

"My Lord, the Prince of Dale," Galion announced, followed by Bain's quick steps. 

Nodding, Feren took this as his cue to leave. "My Lords."

Legolas lingered. "Have you come to hunt with us?"

"I came to discuss something, but I shall come find you when that is taken care of," Bain answered and when Legolas nodded gladly and turned to the stairs, he faced Thranduil. "Ada, do you have a minute? I can find you later if that is more convenient."

Thranduil rolled his shoulder and shook his head. "A surprise, but not an unwelcome one," he said and walked to the table to pour his young guest a cup of wine. Bain thanked him with a quick nod and took a customary sip before sitting on the cushioned bench, feet stretched in front of him and head leaned back to look at the ceiling. "What weighs on your heart?"

A smile flit over Bain's face, though not an unhappy one. When he spoke, he directed his words at the ceiling, "In the hope that it will take a long time yet, I assume this alliance you brokered with Da will remain in place when I'm king?"

Frowning, Thranduil wondered where that nonsense came from. "What makes you think otherwise?"

"Nothing," Bain answered and finally looked at him, drank some more of his wine. "It's just a question."

Thranduil knew the sigh he heaved came from deeper in his chest than the situation possibly warranted, but Bain would understand the notion. "What have I ever done that makes you test me?" 

His guest rewarded him with a lopsided smile. He was a young man who had come well into his own over the past years. He was now truly starting to fill out his frame, the gangliness of youth leaving his limbs and features both.

"Not that I am loathe to see you, but that was a strange question to make your way here for."

"True," Bain answered and fell silent again, apparently pondering something. "I told you about how Da lived much harder than us?" Instead of confirmation, Thranduil kept his eyes on him. "I … we were young when our situation changed this much and now I feel I didn't do enough." His eyes sought help in explaining himself, but Thranduil merely motioned him to go on. "And I feel that I should do something, but I'm not sure what that might be and how I could do it."

"What brought this on? What are you worried about?" It was a curious development and not one he had sensed in Bain at the beginning of spring.

He shrugged, then sighed and his next words were laced with frustration. "I see Sigrid and Cúthalion and they both do their parts, and then I see Aldarion and Lucan when they stay with us for the winter. This is something I know I can't do, but I should do … something."

For a moment Thranduil let that sit between them and then seemingly changed the topic. "Has Bard considered the issue of territory?"

Bain glanced at him with surprise. "Yes, they are negotiating. You had a look at the finer points?" Thranduil nodded. By now Bard was capable of drawing up his own contracts, but with the time winter had offered them, Thranduil had made several suggestions that would benefit both sides. "Da is king, but just because I killed a few Orcs and have a dick all of this will fall me to me? I already asked Sigrid if she wants to switch, but she says she's more useful behind the throne."

That startled an involuntary laugh out of Thranduil. "Your sister has a point. And I imagine you will have done a few more deeds when your time comes. It would be advantageous to both your people and your trade routes if you expanded even further east, since it will ease the burden on tariffs. You could work closer with Duinhir for this."

"You planned all of this already?" Bain had both eyebrows raised yet didn't look especially surprised. But then his eyes narrowed and he regarded Thranduil with entirely too much unwarranted suspicion. "What else is there?"

Shrugging, Thranduil came to sit next to him, hoping it would put him at ease. Bain was very well aware of his position and what the future held in store for him, but just because he was more comfortable in that skin than his father didn't mean he wouldn't have doubts like these. Thranduil shook his head and tried to smile with as much innocence as he could muster. "This depends on too many variables that I have no way to foresee, but I would discuss this with both you and your father at the appropriate time. This will be your task before long."

That was the way it was supposed to be: as Bain got older he would slowly take over tasks currently solely conducted by Bard. It would prepare him to rule and ease the weight on Bard's shoulders in equal measure. This was a trade-off that didn't always happen with Elves, a reason why it was common to found outposts of their realms. 

Bain frowned in his cup of wine. "Why are you telling me this?"

Maybe he should have known Bain would realise the underlying agenda. "With Dale finally becoming a proper kingdom, it might be time to make this known to the other kingdoms of Men. The Dwarves are of fewer consequence to them, as they tend to keep to themselves, but if Dale is gaining in influence, your father might want to make it known that he has no plans in endangering their territory. An envoy of goodwill, so to speak."

Understanding dawned in Bain's eyes and he snorted. "You want me to do this."

"You are the only one who makes sense," Thranduil explained. "Bard may be able to take his winters a few hours' ride away from Dale, but Gondor lies beyond Rhovanion and the king should not leave that long, not with recent expansion. You will extend your respect and goodwill towards the Stewart and they will learn you have every intention to stay outside their borders. They should not perceive you as a thread by territory alone, but your ties to Rohan put you further south than might be assumed. Gondor has also been Rohan's patron since the Éothéod moved south, it would be wise to make it known there that you have no intentions of challenging that."

Bain seemed to mull this over. "What about Rohan? I know the situation is difficult, but…"

Doubtlessly he had talked to Lucan and possibly the Rohirric refugees. "By all accounts, stemming from before I ever met Lucan, King Fengel is not an easy man and prone to pettiness. His heir lives in Gondor, you would likely meet him there. Most of his military commanders are in Gondor, at least the ones not residing in Dale."

Nodding, Bain looked contemplative. Eventually he said, "I need to wait though, don't I? Da needs to sign those contracts and then ride into those villages in that terribly showy but indubitably equally functional armour you gave him. If the situation then is stable … I ride?"

Thranduil smiled at him fondly, remembered Duinhir when he had been about to set out with enough of their people to populate a settlement. While Bain would not do the same, it probably felt a lot like it. "That would be advisable. But it would be good for you."

Bain shot him a sceptical glance at the evasive answer, but then exhaled and shook his head. "How long will I be gone?"

"Who can say? A year, give or take? Winters in Gondor are mild, but the weather in Rhovanion can be capricious."

Silence followed and then Bain snorted. "Da won't like it."

"And yet that will hardly stop you." Thranduil had to laugh a little when Bain's simile turned chagrined in answer. He was his father's son, after all. "Is your mind at ease?"

Nodding, he drained his cup and dropped the topic. "Maybe you could tell me where Tilda is, I thought I might take her home with us so you don't have to spare the escort."

The words startled a chuckle out of Thranduil. This was not something Tilda would like, her big brother as escort after arguing about it with him just weeks ago. But this was now on Bain, and Thranduil would neatly extricate himself from that particular discussion for now. He was almost sure it would arise again before long; he'd known the siblings for a considerable part of their lives now and was well aware they had inherited much of their father's mind.

~*~

Elves had lived in Dale from the time of its re-founding, as surrogate parents to orphaned children and as guards, but Thranduil had never relinquished them as his subjects. As far as he was aware, they intended to stay for the near future as well, and then there still was the matter of Tauriel, who was still banished and part of Bard's own guard detail.

Still, while the Elves were welcome back in the Woodland Realm at any time, they mostly chose to remain in Dale. This was part of the reason why Thranduil usually spent a few weeks every summer in the city. Although they had accepted Bard's rule by proxy, grievances and the like were Thranduil's task to manage, as well as any discontentment the Elves might theoretically experience with Bard. So far this hadn't been an issue.

In those weeks he missed the cool shade of the trees in high summer and indeed he never had anything to adjudicate, but this, too, was the task of a king. This time also put him in Bard's bed for a few weeks, a fact that made up for the heat.

The streets of Dale were hot at this time of year and everyone who didn't work outdoors remained inside in the early afternoon heat. The Elves didn't care and many of them had taken responsibilities in the fields, tending vegetables and flower gardens where space was available. 

Something soft and heavy bumped against Thranduil's legs and then fell away, and when he looked down it was into the face of a toddler on the verge of dramatic tears. He picked the Elfling up before they could spill and was rewarded with sniffling. 

"My Lord!" Amáriël, who had been among the first Eves to move to Dale, called out and hurried towards him. The little Elf in Thranduil's arms cried out for his mother, arms outstretched, and he released the child to her once she reached him. "I looked away for a moment. Thank you."

He shook his head. "No matter," he told her as she stroked over her son's face to prevent the tears from falling. "What is his name?"

She rocked the child, little over a year old, and smiled. "Fondir, because he keeps pointing at the clouds."

It had been many years since children had run in Thranduil's kingdom, inside his own halls or in the villages beyond. The shadow and the spiders were a constant threat, and as he had pointed out to Sigrid years ago, his people could afford to wait for peace. Yet when the surrogate parents had started caring for the orphaned children of Dale, many had found mortal companions and by now Dale had a sizeable population of children with mixed parentage. Sometimes even Elf found Elf, and Elflings ran in the streets of Dale.

"Has everything been well?" he asked as she led him to one of the old trees that had been saved during the restauration of the city. Amáriël had found her husband among the Elven guards of Dale and now her mortal adoptive son had an Elvish brother. 

She knelt in the shade of the tree and let go of the child, who sat and investigated the dirt in a crack between the cobblestones. When she was satisfied everything was well, she glanced up at him. "It might sound odd, but in a way it is easier with two kings. We all know we're protected by both of you and no danger will come from north or west. And the Lord Duinhir resides further to the east, too. It inspires confidence in everyone, be they mortal or not. We are content, my Lord, for now and can hardly ask for more."

Thranduil nodded. "And the work?"

"I feel little difference to my tasks in the Woods, save that the mortals have some matters left to learn. But so are we learning to eke out resources we seldom considered and to appreciate the passage of time more than we sometimes do among our own."

It was that moment that the child began to fuss again and Amáriël excused herself to go and lay him down. But Thranduil had heard enough and let her go to make his own way through the streets of Dale for a drink of chilled wine and to see whether he might find a certain dragonslayer returned from his own duties. Bard had been away since before Thranduil had arrived, to tie up the last strings in regards to the territory expansion.

Instead he found Cúthalion and Tauriel waiting for him in the shade of one of the houses still standing from the days of old Dale's glory. Not long after Cúthalion had taken up residence in Dale, Tauriel had recruited him for the guard where he still served now and the two had been working well together. It made liaising that much easier and now Cuthalion's sister Ithril wasn't required to go back and forth any longer; instead she had was returned to her duties in Thranduil's personal guard.

Still, this specific welcome committee made Thranduil narrow his eyes in suspicion.

"My Lord, we bring tidings from the Dwarves," Tauriel told him without preamble and waited to gauge his reaction on that. Tauriel had loved the younger of Thorin's heirs and been loved in turn, and the Dwarves treated her with benevolence and more courtesy than they extended to any other Elf. On the other hand, they dealt with Cúthalion due to his union with Sigrid — whom Dáin favoured with almost fatherly goodwill. Compared to that, Thranduil and Dáin maintained their working relationship punctuated by insults, but they each kept their bargains and found solutions when they needed to. It was a strange alliance brokered by Bard's enforced treaty.

That was why he hadn't counted on having to deal with this now. "Have the Naugrim stepped out of line?"

But Cúthalion shook his head. "By now the Dwarves have finished the reparation payments."

At this Thranduil nodded. This had actually been true since a while ago; while the gold was still held in trust in the Mountain, the payments in weapons and farming equipment had been rendered in full. "And?"

"They know about the contracts the King is negotiating," Tauriel continued and Thranduil motioned her to go on. "They have offered to further contribute weapons to the defence of the villages."

"At cost, surely," Thranduil remarked and received a nod in return. "Why are you bringing this to me, not to Bard? Dale is his responsibility."

A quiet snort from Cúthalion followed this, but he didn't elaborate. Instead he said, "They want to fashion everything with Dale's coat of arms from now on, they already traced the design." 

That would surely be a sight, however that still was nominally far from Thranduil's business. "The cost of this will still have to be carried by Dale."

He saw Cúthalion and Tauriel exchange a glance before Cúthalion turned back to him. "Sigrid told you she has spoken with the Dwarves?"

Sigrid had indeed kept him appraised that she was in negotiations with Dáin while Bard was away to speak with the villages, but she had not gone into detail. She had money to spend as she saw fit, since Cúthalion had not asked a dowry of her and they had remained in Bard's household. 

Looking around he shook his head. "Come," he told the two other Elves, "we will walk a while. Why are you coming to me with this?"

Thranduil had known Sigrid for all of her adult life and had never known her to be meek and not speak out for herself. If this was the case now, if she felt she had to send Cúthalion, this was a surprise and he was not well pleased by it. Still, he didn't want this conversation to be overheard in more than snatches. 

"She hasn't told her father," Tauriel informed him. 

Thranduil shot a questioning glance to Cúthalion who shrugged. "We want to show him it's more than just her who think this is a good idea. Sigrid made an agreement with Dáin, it has been witnessed and should not present a problem. Unexpectedly though we need your leave and we thought it might be easier to keep this within our kindred rather than involving the Men in this as well."

"My leave?" Thranduil echoed. "What for?"

Cúthalion grinned, not just a little proud. "Well, Sigrid had an idea."

Thranduil had first brought up a network of rooms underground for situations that might require cold storage or protection of any kind, and she had looked at him with that calculating gaze. He hadn't mentioned it any further than that, but apparently she had taken it at face value. Of course Dale had the Lonely Mountain to rely on if worse came to worst; no one actually doubted the Dwarves would protect their allies. Yet both Dale and Erebor had been devastated before by powers beyond their reckoning. Additional storage would also not hurt now that Dale was still growing and looked to be growing more in the future. Sigrid had the power to strike this deal, valuable advisor to her father that she was, and present Bard with the facts. 

"It's to be like your halls in the Woodland Realm," Tauriel finally said. "In design, if not size. To strengthen the ties between the kindreds."

"Few of the Dwarves have been there and I suppose when they were jailed they did not pay close attention to the details," Cúthalion added with a smirk. "But you see why we would need your explicit permission for a delegation of Dwarves to visit. I suppose they will be under as much duress as you."

Thranduil conveyed his dismissal with a roll of his shoulder. "I will not be under duress, they were guests in my dungeons one time and if they fail to comply to my laws they will be again." When Cúthalion's smirk turned lopsided he shrugged. "You may accompany a small delegation to my halls where they will get the opportunity to study what architectural designs they may wish, under guard. Tauriel—"

"I know," she interrupted him, eyes downcast. "Cúthalion will come, and Sigrid."

He nodded. "Do Bain and Tilda know?"

"Not yet," Cúthalion answered immediately. "We thought it might be easier."

Thinking about that for a few heartbeats, Thranduil gave them another nod. This also was his final agreement and they would speak no more of it until Sigrid and Cúthalion and their … guests would arrive in his halls.

The day had been hot and the sun was long in setting that evening when they sat outside for their evening meal followed by chilled wine. They were talking low, for Eryn had fallen asleep on the bench next to her mother, her head pillowed on Sigrid's thigh. When heavy steps began to sound in the palace, Cúthalion caught his glance, for only the two of them could hear them yet. Shortly thereafter Bard appeared in the door to the courtyard.

"We did not expect you back yet," Bain greeted him. "Has everything gone well?"

"It has, and I wanted to be home," Bard told them and bent to kiss Sigrid on the cheek. 

At his words Eryn woke up and rubbed her eyes, face lighting up when she spotted him. "Da!" she called.

"Grandda," he corrected her but picked her up when she stretched her arms out to him. He kissed her as well and she giggled when his stubble tickled her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "How is my eldest grandchild, hm, Princess?"

"Tired," Sigrid answered resolutely, "and she should have been in bed already." Yet she didn't get up to take her from him and Bard smiled. 

He collected a kiss from Tilda who complained, "Da, you need to shave," and then shook her head. "Do you want to eat?"

"Yes," he answered and came around the table to Thranduil's side. He used Thranduil's shoulder to aid his balance as he stepped over the bench and sat, their thighs pressed together. Leaning over briefly he brushed his lips across Thranduil's cheek, sighed and shifted Eryn to sit properly on his lap. "Food would be great, preferably no innards, because I've had far too much kidney pie and creamed liver. They all meant well hosting us, but it was a little too much."

Nodding, Tilda got up and went inside the house since the woman who did the cooking and came in during the day was still in the kitchen. Thranduil saw Bain watch them, lips twitching in a suppressed chuckle that turned into a full grin when his niece reached out to grab a fistful of Thranduil's hair and pulled. He glowered at him even as Bard laughed and shifted even closer as he tried to distract the toddler, gathering her hands gently but securely in his own until food was carried out for him. The Northmen had a tendency to preserve everything in some way and this evening there had been salted fish, bread and pickled vegetables of various sorts. 

Bard shifted Eryn over to Thranduil, and he needed both hands to keep her from climbing onto the table or squirming to the floor. "Awake again, are we?" he murmured and her large grey eyes glanced up at him. "This is really the time for little Elves to be asleep."

"For little mortals, too," Cúthalion said softly and got up to collect his daughter. It was not bitterness or sadness that softened his voice though, merely the attempt to calm her and put her back to sleep quickly. He had made his peace with his choices, as they all must. 

While Cúthalion was gone, Bard gave a brief account of the past few days in which he had officially welcomed the outlying villages to the kingdom of Dale, finishing with, "At least they'll stop pestering us to lower our tariffs."

This complaint showed how much Dale had become a power to reckon with and this made Thranduil smile. The presence of and close ties to the Elves and Dwarves certainly helped, though even if all of Thranduil's people had gone back, by now Dale would have been able to hold its own. The question remained of what might happen when the Rohirrim went home to their lands, but Fengel was still hale, and that time not upon them yet. And for many of them Dale had become more than a temporary refuge. Bard had called him smug when he had pointed that out, but Thranduil was willing to accept that with little more than a shrug since he knew Dale's king was secretly pleased.

"Ways and means could have been found to nip that in the bud," Thranduil reminded him but made sure to put a teasing note behind the words.

Bard turned to him, a glint in his eyes and a lopsided smile on his lips. "I like my version better."

"And so you shall," Thranduil granted, knowing it might not always be that simple. Bard knew this as well, he merely refused to consider the alternative for the moment. The smile on his face told Thranduil as much and he half raised one corner of his mouth in answer.

This was the moment Bain opted to clear his throat. "Well, I'm going down to the tavern. Tilda?"

His sister shot a glance at her father, briefly raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Yes. A few people owe me a game of darts."

"Don't hustle your subjects," Bard admonished and rolled his eyes. 

"They're your subjects!" Tilda called back over her shoulder. "Bain will make sure I don't clean them out completely."

Once they were gone, Bard shook his head. "They should have her play by Elvish rules."

In a mixed settlement like Dale, popular games like darts got old for the mortals due to the accurate aim of their Elvish neighbours. By now the Elves had to have a scarf over their eyes and could only stand on one leg. 

Sigrid laughed. "Da, I think the Elves are just humouring us."

"Knew it." Bard heaved a dramatic sigh. His next words were wistful, however. "For how long do you think a prince and a princess will be able to go drinking and gambling in the tavern?"

Dale was a deceptively safe city, made so by the presence of Elves and by the fact that Bard had established a strict code of law. Still, crime existed, even if the consequences were dire, which was why Bard still worried. But anyone attacking a daughter of the king would forfeit their lives instantly, so it was probably perfectly all right for Tilda to walk the streets of the city at any given time of night or day — especially since she had a knife on her at all times.

"You taught us," Sigrid told him and shook her head, then got up. The sun was almost gone and though the air was still warm, it could barely be enough to see by. Her glance turned stern. "I'll see you tomorrow. If you two wake my daughter, I'll make you pay for it."

Finally she smiled sweetly at them and left the courtyard. A moment later Thranduil heard her voice again — a low laugh and quiet words to Cúthalion — before he turned his gaze to Bard. "Would you like to turn in as well?"

Lips twitching, Bard leaned more against his side, a familiar and welcome weight. "As long as it's not sleep that's on your mind…" he trailed off suggestively and Thranduil pretended to consider and weigh one option against the other.

"I could be persuaded to postpone sleep for a while yet."

Minutes later Thranduil's back hit the door of the bedchamber with a thud as he was shoved against it and Bard kissed him fiercely. Moaning into Bard's mouth his hands went to his hips to keep him close, feeling the long line of his body against his, the play of muscles through the light tunic. Hands were buried in Thranduil's hair and tugged lightly, changing the angle of the kiss subtly to deepen it. It was a familiar dance between them.

Mildly out of breath Bard broke the kiss. "Do you think that counts as too loud?" he whispered and started to loosen the hooks that held Thranduil's tunic closed.

Humming in consideration Thranduil let his hands travel to the small of Bard's back and bunched up the tunic he was wearing, dug his thumbs into the tiny hollows next to his spine while he held onto him. "Past experience shows she will let us know if we are."

"Yes, that was memorable, I've never bathed in my bed before." Then he stilled Thranduil's chuckles with another kiss, deepening it with less hurry than before, all the while continuing to undress him until the tunic fell open and he could brush it off his shoulders. Bard's hands were warm when they stroked over his chest and stomach, calluses rough and teasing against Thranduil's skin. 

Thranduil had foregone sleep since he had arrived in Dale two days ago, opting instead to enjoy the cooler nights and the moonlight where the watchfires didn't reach. Now sleep was the last thing on his mind with Bard stretched out beneath him on the bed, skin tasting ever so slightly of salt, making appreciative little noises as Thranduil placed nips and kisses along his throat while letting his hand travel over his stomach and then between his legs. Bard squirmed beneath him, either to get more contact — or less, and it made Thranduil pursue him with ever more intensity. He bit the sensitive skin at the juncture of neck and jaw and Bard gasped, breath quickening along with his heartbeat and Thranduil soothed the sting again with his tongue.

He hushed a quiet moan playfully, kissed Bard next to his ear and whispered, "What will your neighbours think?"

Indeed, they had failed to close the shutters, but the air during the day was stifling and everyone was glad about a breeze in the rooms at night. They'd never lit a lamp though, so they were shrouded in the semi-darkness of a summer night. Bard gave a startled laugh and turned his head to kiss him, pushing him off of him lightly so they both lay on their side facing each other. "That's the only good thing about the yards around the palace being this big," he answered and kissed him again. "Fewer echoes, not like your halls. They will all know there's a reason I came back a day early."

Thranduil kept his touches light but firm enough to balance both of them on the edge of arousal, yet kept up the frequent kisses. "Is there?"

The flat look Bard shot him spoke for itself. "Fishing for compliments?"

"Flattery is for those who do know not their own worth," Thranduil informed him.

"Not a problem you're having then." The tone was dry but teasing and Bard leaned in and nipped at the arch of his ear. Thranduil drew an involuntary breath and felt Bard grin against his skin when he did it again. "And yet still the fabulous Elvenking has his weak spots," he whispered, but didn't give Thranduil the opportunity to respond for he caught his mouth in a kiss that deepened instantly. 

Of course Thranduil could have told him those were circumstantial and he didn't reveal vulnerabilities to just anyone, but he knew he needn't bother with that. His mind was occupied by the rhythm of their bodies and the ebb and flow between them and he was more than content with that.

Later Bard pretended to be asleep for a long while; his breathing was even and his eyes were closed, yet Thranduil knew something occupied his thoughts. Not wanting to press for answers, he waited until Bard rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, seemingly undecided. Thranduil shifted and stretched to run a hand down his back at which Bard startled and turned around. "Of course you know I wasn't sleeping."

"You hardly toss and turn like this when you truly sleep," he told him and let his hand travel down Bard's arm, caught his hand and kissed his fingers. "Not when you are with me." A smile answered him as Thranduil turned his hand over and kissed his palm, the inside of his wrist. Bard's heartbeat throbbed against his lips and he ever so lightly scraped his teeth over it and was rewarded with an uptick in the rhythm. "What is it?"

"It's too warm," Bard answered and cupped his jaw, fingers stroking over the pulse in Thranduil's throat. "I thought about a walk."

"Would you like company?"

The fingers fell away and Bard braced himself on the mattress, leaned in for a kiss that was almost chaste. "I certainly wouldn't mind."

Outside the night air was blessedly cooler against their skin, and they walked the streets in silence until they reached the wall and climbed the battlements. Guards stood at attention at regular intervals, though they paid them little more heed than a nod as they passed. Eventually they stopped at a spot that overlooked the east, officially Bard's territory now as far as the eyes of mortals would see beyond the fields and pastures for food and livestock. 

Bard frowned into the moonlit darkness. "We are very fortunate."

Tilting his head, Thranduil shot him a curious glance. "What makes you say that?"

"They told me in Rana yesterday that a sickness is coming from the east. I think it's two, one sounds like the pox, another gives you fever and the runs and then you go mad. It doesn't hit everyone, of course; we used to have things like this every summer, especially pox every other year. I guess I have deliberately forgotten what that was like." Bard's smile was tight and he exhaled audibly.

Men's susceptibility to disease was something Thranduil — and most other Eldar — didn't tend to think about a lot. Over the years he had healed injuries and feverish colds for all of Bard's children as well as Bard himself, and he knew sometimes people asked the Elves living in Dale for assistance. But just as much as crime was an issue in the city, people still died in Dale, of injury and disease as much as old age. Intellectually Thranduil knew that epidemics usually raged through the settlements of Men, yet so far he had had no news of that here. He had not paid it much mind, but likely everyone knew what to look for and asked for help from their Elvish neighbours in due time. 

"You do live in peaceful times," Thranduil told Bard instead of answering with platitudes. None of his people were forced to render their services, he would have heard of it and Bard would not condone it. If they helped the Men, it was done out of fondness and compassion. "It is true."

Bard snorted in derision. "The rotting dragon carcass in the Long Lake might disagree with you."

Waving off, Thranduil turned to look far out at the fields as well. "That was one incident when Smaug arrived and another when the Dwarves were foolish enough to reclaim that Mountain and set all of this in motion. Two battles, for you, and you lived to see the next day. Most would count this as a win."

"Do you?"

Thranduil took a long time to think about that and consider his answer. Noise from some inner courtyard drifted up to them, the tinkling of water from a small fountain. "My people suffered for it also, though of course this was not by your design. But this was nothing against the wars of the past, battles that took lives uncounted against powers beyond our hope to vanquish. The world is still at peace. For now."

He felt Bard's eyes on him, but he didn't argue further. They both knew the peace was broken and they experienced now the quiet before the storm. Their hope was that it would hold long enough to give all kindreds a chance to set their defences in motion while keeping a wary eye on the south. The kingdom of Dale and its influence spreading to the east was one of those measures and they both knew this. Thranduil wondered whether he should bring up the matter of the town on the Long Lake but decided it was not urgent enough to do it this fair night. 

"I don't envy you those wars," Bard finally said and Thranduil nodded mutely in answer. A few heartbeats later Bard changed the topic to lighten the mood. "Is there any chance for rain soon?" Thranduil turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow. "It's too warm and the crops need it. We hear we can take a week, maybe two, longer before we need to think about a solution at least as far as irrigation is concerned."

"I fail to remember becoming your weather vane." Thranduil bristled intentionally and rolled his eyes.

Laughing quietly, Bard faced him. "You could have fooled me; didn't you say we would have a long summer?"

"And you will have to be quick about the harvest, we all do," Thranduil added mildly and returned the smile that earned him. "We have chances for rain. Keep thinking about that solution though, you might have use for it yet." When Bard groaned quietly in exasperation which turned into a pained laugh, Thranduil smirked and stepped in closer. "Not something you thought you would have to deal with as king?"

"That and a million other things," Bard agreed quietly and raised his chin a little to keep eye contact. "I'll think about it. Or tell someone to think about it who knows more about this than me. I was supposed to be a bargeman."

Thranduil hummed in agreement. "And you were most reliable in your duties when it came to deliveries to my halls."

"I'm glad when my customers are satisfied," he said so quietly that it was little more than a rumbling whisper. 

"Most satisfied." With that Thranduil leaned in to close the distance between them and sealed their mouths together. At that moment neither of them cared that they were in plain sight of the whole city, though usually they would be more careful. It didn't serve to make a display of themselves even when not a soul was left in Dale who had failed to learn about them. Usually they were careful not to be too demonstrative, for Bard still thought it might weaken his position and Thranduil would save himself any grumblings about sentimentality. In the dead of night however they might drop their guard, if only for a moment. When eventually they broke apart again, Thranduil brushed his lips over his forehead before leaning back. "Should we see if there is some more satisfaction to be had?"

"Twice in one night?" Bard smirked and hunted his lips for another kiss, ended up lightly nipping the corner of his mouth. "Let's see if I feel adventurous enough."

Mere minutes later Thranduil pulled Bard on top of him after he let himself fall backwards on the bed, their overheated skin brushing against each other, and Bard came willingly, easily distributing his weight on hands and knees on either side of him. They kissed deeply and Thranduil let his hands travel from Bard's shoulders over his chest, feeling the hair there tangle around his fingers, stubble rough against his skin. A hitch in Bard's breathing when he dragged one thumb across a nipple was a sign of how good it felt and Thranduil grinned when Bard broke the kiss so he did it again, using a fingernail this time. 

A shudder ran through Bard and his breathing became ragged. Their eyes locked briefly and then Bard dove back in, letting his body pin Thranduil to the bed. Thranduil's hands slid on his sweat-slick skin to pull him closer. Heat and friction grew between them and Bard moaned into the kiss from deep in his chest, the sound vibrating in the space between them. He felt Bard's arousal against his thigh and let his hand travel down to take hold of him.

In a room down the hall the sound of a toddler yelling for her parents — the results of some nightmare no doubt — let them both freeze. Seconds later they looked at each other, eyes wide, and had to suppress their laughter. When they had calmed down Bard brushed their noses together and kissed him quickly before rolling off of him. "I'm not sure this is what you had in mind when you promised me satisfaction," he said with quiet mirth in his voice. 

"I have no recollection of making promises," Thranduil answered lazily, but turned on his side and stroked Bard's hair behind his ear, trailing his fingers through the tips at the nape at his neck. He could see an impertinent answer on the tip of Bard's tongue, but he cut that off with another kiss and he could feel him grin instead, resuming touches and quiet sounds between them. Their breath mingled and they had to shush each other laughing a few more times before satisfaction was finally achieved and they let sleep claim them. 

On the following morning they were the last to come to breakfast and Bard grumbled about short nights and wanting to take a dip in the river north of the city. Thranduil thought of the bath house that had long been available in Dale — largely by incentive of the resident Elves — but Bard would likely never lose the remnants of his rough upbringing. 

Cúthalion sat at the table with the rest of the family working around him. He had Eryn on his lap, whose mouth was smeared with the red juice of cherries that had been set in front of her cut in half and with the pits removed. Over the years Bard had roped all his children into the governing of Dale — a move Thranduil would have pushed for to not see all that potential wasted had it not come to pass — which left everyone busy. Meals were still taken communally if possible however, and while cooking and general housekeeping had been relegated to attendants, breakfast was still a family affair. 

When they sat at the table, Tilda glanced at them. "You don't look like you slept much."

Bard shot him a look at which Thranduil shrugged before he said, "Well, neither do you."

"I'm much younger than you, I can take it," she dismissed him and went about her own meal. In truth the rings beneath her and Bain's eyes were far more pronounced than Bard's mild pallor. At this her brother mumbled about too many drinks bought by other patrons, but Thranduil doubted anyone but himself heard. 

In answer Bard sighed. "Whatever happened to my sweet and humble little girl?"

Sigrid snorted and Bain rolled his eyes. 

"I left her in Mirkwood together with my—"

"Tilda!" Sigrid cut her off sharply as she sat down next to Cúthalion and Eryn looked at her with a questioning glance. Absently she ran her hand over her daughter's dark hair in reassurance. 

To diffuse the situation and prevent Bard from entering a line of questions neither of them would want to know the answers to, Thranduil said, "It really is not an appropriate name for my realm."

At this Sigrid and Bain exchanged a glance and she leaned ever so lightly against Cúthalion's shoulder, who turned his head and kissed her hair. "We always called it that for as long as I remember. We just stopped when we lived there, but… Everyone else does. And it is very dark where the shadows are."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow and looked in Bard's direction. "I never did, so don't give me that," he defended himself. "I always knew where the money came from."

While Thranduil had a reply ready, he was pre-emptively interrupted by Sigrid who finished the last cherry Eryn had pushed away. "Da, people are asking about water for the fields and I think the Dwarves have come up with something, they want to talk to you."

"I'm still hoping for rain," Bard told her with an eye on Thranduil, but Sigrid merely shrugged dismissively and got up to start her day. Everyone else seemed to follow her lead and even Bard did, trailing his hand over Thranduil shoulder as he left. Thranduil absently brushed his fingers along his even as Cúthalion caught his eye and raised one corner of his mouth. 

They were the last ones left at the table, for Thranduil wanted to speak with his people about the continued Elven presence in Dale and whether they would want to maintain it another year. Every year they held this discussion and while Thranduil would prefer an Elven contingent beyond Cúthalion and Tauriel — who both would remain even if the others decided to leave, both for their own reasons — his people had come here out of their own volition and it was up to them to remain or leave. What would happen to the guard contingent if the Elves chose to turn away was for him to decide when that time came. He would have both of them, and now also Eryn, by his side at this time, though, to remind them how much both Sindar and Silvan Elves had become a part of Dale.

"I hear about plans for the winter," Cúthalion said casually and looked away again to wipe his daughter's face with a damp cloth to clean away the cherry juice. "Bain is very vocal, and Sigrid agrees. I think it's a good idea, we did well enough last year. I think it takes some strain off of everyone. Bard included."

Practice let Thranduil keep his face an impassive mask as he stood from the table as well and collected Eryn to give her father the chance to ready himself as well. "I know nothing of this," he answered, but caught the answering smirk on the other Elf's face. Clearly Bard had no chance to escape his family's plans. Then again, Cúthalion was right to side with Bain and Sigrid in this, especially if he wanted to keep sleeping in his own bed.

~*~

As suddenly as Thranduil had predicted, the heat of summer ended with a series of unseasonably early storms and even the Elves, who had known this would likely happen, struggled to manage the harvest in time. He received messages from Dale that they had been hit by two of those storms before they had finished bringing in all the grain, yet were hopeful they had not lost too much. The flooding of the river and consequent rotting of vegetables could still present a problem, but so far the inhabitants of that kingdom seemed to be confident to be able to save enough to feed themselves this winter.

One problem solved meant more cropping up, though, even when they should not even be problems. Recently Legolas had once more started making his case to move against Dol Guldur as the source of the spider infestation of the woods they lived in. 

"Valacar considers it a good idea," he argued and tapped the site of Amon Lanc on the map. 

Sighing, Thranduil closed his eyes briefly to gather his patience. He wondered if he might be close to the kind of headache that Bard had described coming from raising three children by himself. "Valacar was demoted from his post for a reason when he failed to stop a nest from spreading. Now he wants to act pre-emptively when they have not encroached on our territory all year. Do you see how this has no way of adding up?"

His son merely set his jaw. "If we manage to beat them back even further it will be a victory for us."

"Endangering our people in the process." Thranduil shook his head. "No. We should not be foolish."

"They won't move in winter!"

"And we will then be considered the aggressors. I will not start a war over this, it is not the time." And that would have been his last word on it, but when he turned towards the overhang to see the leaves fall in the gales currently sweeping through the woods, someone came up the stairs. Both he and Legolas looked up to spot Aldarion, with Lucan behind him, stepping into the solar fully. Lucan's fair hair was ruffled and had tangled in on itself, and he shuddered in his cloak despite the warmth of the chamber.

"Aldarion." Thranduil was only mildly surprised. He always appreciated when his son and his Rohirric companion wintered in the Woodland Realm, though recently their waystation had been Dale far more often. He directed a gesture of warm greeting at both of them. "Lucan."

The Rohir nodded but otherwise remained mute. 

Legolas also greeted his brother and added, "Maybe we can convince Ada together."

"Legolas—" But Legolas would not be dissuaded and kept up a steady stream of explanations aided by the map still rolled out on the table. Aldarion listened, his face an impassive yet attentive mask. 

"...but Ada is convinced it doesn't have merit because we will appear as the aggressors," Legolas finally finished and looked hopefully at his brother. 

It was several long moments before Aldarion exhaled audibly and exchanged a glance with Lucan, who had come to stand close to him, before he turned his eyes back to Legolas. "He's right." When Legolas started to argue he held up a hand to stay him, though, and looked at Thranduil instead. "However, don't you think it's odd they haven't done anything this year?"

"Perhaps," he allowed. "I am reluctant to draw conclusions from a single year."

At this Aldarion nodded, turned to Lucan again and after a moment of communication so quiet Thranduil couldn't discern any of it, his son nodded and glanced forward again. "I have a suggestion," he said and Thranduil raised his eyebrows in encouragement. "It's a compromise. I'll start down towards the Anduin tomorrow. I can take a look at what is happening beyond the mountains and the old Dwarf road. The woods might have grown much, but Dol Guldur used to lie close enough to their edge that I should be able to see something from the outside."

Legolas frowned. "We should take stock directly."

But Aldarion shook his head. "It's too late in the year, you don't want to enter those woods now. Even in bright summer with the sun high in the sky I wouldn't want to go there."

"No roads lead through those places anymore," Thranduil interjected, "we abandoned them far too long ago."

Legolas looked as if he wanted to argue more, but it was Lucan who spoke next, reaching out to lay a hand on Aldarion's arm. "I'm coming with you."

"No." Aldarion's tone brooked no argument and he wrenched his arm away. "I do not know whether I will be able to make my way back before the snow and if I have to winter on the way I want to do it as far away from that fell place as I can. That means going down into Rohan and I'm not taking you back there."

"I don't care," Lucan told him with the same conviction. 

"I do if it might mean your life," Aldarion answered, sounding angry and a little worn at the thought and now it was him who gripped Lucan's wrist, with force but obviously without pain. They stared at each other in a battle of wills and Thranduil understood them both, but felt ambivalent over the fact that they were arguing in front of him. He would as soon not be witness to it. Lucan's wish was either brave or foolish, for an order of execution still hung over his head as soon as he entered the borders of his homeland. That was the last gift of his father King Fengel of Rohan, who had exiled his bastard son to die the day he had come of age.

The two of them didn't reach a conclusion before Legolas said, "I will go with you."

Before Thranduil could object Aldarion was the one to do it. "No, not when you have your heart set on going against those creatures. I'll sooner take Lucan."

"Ada—" Legolas interrupted himself when he saw his forbidding mien. "We need to do something!"

"Wait for Aldarion's intel and then maybe we can make a decision, if one is necessary," he said. 

Legolas sighed in frustration and rolled up the map before leaving the solar. Thranduil let his gaze follow him and he felt a heaviness settle in his chest as he did so. More than a life of Men or even two, but too short a time for the Eldar remained for Legolas to still linger in his halls, he knew in that instant. 

Thranduil turned his gaze to Aldarion. His heart felt heavy at sending his son and his companion out again mere weeks away from the onset of winter, yet both were seasoned travellers and he trusted Aldarion to keep a level head more than Legolas right then. "Keep away from Lórien if you can. If winter surprises you, seek out Celeborn's people, but I would have you stay away if possible."

Nodding, Aldarion glanced briefly at Lucan, both of them back in tune, then loosened his slightly damp cloak and swept it off his shoulders. "We'll stay on the east shore of the river. Fewer chances of bandits from the mountains, too. First light tomorrow."

Thranduil acknowledged this with a nod of his own and stayed behind when both of them turned for the stairs. "Look out, both of you." 

He didn't know what news Aldarion could bring back that would put Legolas at ease, yet this winter would be a grace period while they evaluated their options.

~*~

By the time Thranduil was confronted with an irate dragonslayer and a much less irate Prince of Dale in his study weeks later, he had not yet heard from Aldarion, but ultimately that wasn't surprising. Snow would start falling in a matter of days and the time of serious travel was over for the season. Due to his knowledge about Bain's plan, Thranduil had expected Bard in his halls one of these days, though with much less arguing than he now heard as he descended the stairs.

"I refuse to be put out to pasture!" Bard shouted and Thranduil rolled his eyes.

"I can hardly believe that is anyone's intention," Thranduil remarked and stepped to his side, meanwhile looking at Bain, who had his arms crossed over his chest. "What is happening here?"

Bard whirled around to stare at him. Again he favoured his knee, though Thranduil would look at that later as he had a feeling bringing it up now might be counterproductive. "He's telling me to stay here!"

"No, I'm asking you to spend the winter and come back in spring," Bain countered with a sigh. "What will you do in Dale this winter?"

"I can't just stay away as I please, a king belongs with his people." Thranduil tilted his head at this and considered saying something in response, but then Bard added, "I thought I'd taught you this."

"Da…" Bain said, then shook his head. "I'm sure that not just the Elves in Dale appreciate your presence. Our contracts with the Woodland Realm are bilateral, aren't they?"

Thranduil permitted himself a small smile of appreciation at him thinking about it. Bain would make a fine ruler one day. "That is correct."

Luckily Bain was smart enough not to show his smugness. "I also thought I did well last year and you didn't find anything to complain."

"You did well, Bain, but—" Bard broke off and scowled. "This is not a responsibility that should rest on your shoulders yet."

"It doesn't. You're still king and I'd prefer you stay king, and you're not in Dorwinion or anything, you're within your own sphere of interest. Between Sigrid and me we can handle Dale during such a quiet season. Sigrid could bloody well do it alone, most likely." Which was probably a fair assessment, but still something Bain was probably smart enough not say outside the family circle.

Snorting, Thranduil glanced between father and son. Bard still appeared angry and truth be told, Thranduil couldn't blame him for it. However Bain had managed to lure him to the Woods, it had been done with the full intent of leaving him for the winter. Thranduil wished he had done this in Dale and let Bard come of his own volition. 

The two men were visibly at odds about this and Bard at least was practically radiating anger when Thranduil turned to Bain. "I would speak to your father." After a moment Bain nodded and made for the stairs. "Stay the night, garrison your men with my soldiers."

A beat of silence before Bain acquiesced, "Yes, Ada."

Thranduil waited until his steps had echoed away and was about to speak when Bard said, his voice still angry, "You knew about this, didn't you?"

"Not in so many details. I knew he wanted to discuss an arrangement for the winter with you." He had made it a point to not involve himself with Bain's plans at any point over the year past, though he hadn't expected him to present his father with matters already set in stone. Admittedly, sometimes it was better to deal that way with Bard as it spared them all discussions whose outcome was clear anyway. 

Bard scowled at him and when Thranduil wanted to reach for his wrist he stepped out of reach, putting several paces between them. "You condone this?"

"That the two of you are arguing in my study? No." Thranduil tucked his hands into his sleeves and studied his guest, all squared shoulders and raised chin. He understood why this situation didn't sit well with Bard, but that was why he had sent Bain out, since Thranduil knew he would have better chances to get Bard to be reasonable if it was just them. "I have no objections to your extended stay, however." That earned him a fleeting, quickly aborted half-smile. "Your son is right about your sphere of interest; in a broad sense it stretches here."

"That's a very far stretch," Bard complained but took a step towards him again. Then he scowled once more. "You should have told me."

"Nonetheless," Thranduil said levelly. "And I did, yet you considered it a jest. I had no hand in this, though I will not turn down the opportunity if you were to stay with me."

"Elves," Bard huffed but closed the distance between them again and rested his forehead briefly against his shoulder. Thranduil cupped his jaw, feeling familiar stubble, before sliding his hand back to the nape of Bard's neck and kissed his head quickly, then his lips when they were offered. "I want you to know I don't like this."

Whether _this_ was the way Bain had handled it or the fact that Bard would be staying in the Woodland Realm at all that winter was unclear, but then Bard obviously didn't object on a fundamental level. "Noted," Thranduil said. "I will have the pleasure of your company then?"

"As if the decision hadn't been already made. You know my children." At least there was some humour back in his voice, and indeed Sigrid would likely have turned him back if he showed up at his own house. He placed one hand on Thranduil's chest and kissed him once more, taking the sting out of his initial reluctance. "I'll speak with Bain."

Supper was a much tenser affair than usual, for that discussion with Bain had become loud enough to echo. Thranduil had graciously elected to ignore what was being said and the volume at which it was, though of course his Elves would be less discreet and word would quickly spread through the settlements. But maybe it was for the best for them to know that for the foreseeable future King Bard of Dale, who was also the Elvenking's consort, would take his winters in the Woodland Realm. Ostensibly this was to provide his heir with the opportunity for more responsibility, though while that was part of the truth, concerns of health, rest and comfort also played their part. 

By the time they retired for the night, Bard was still agitated. 

"Your children mean well." Thranduil wasn't sure why he argued, that very fact had been made more than clear and even Bard knew this. Yet still Thranduil felt that he should say something, because the tension was also starting to build between them and that was unacceptable. 

"That is beside the point, I'm not some old knack that needs resting! The Rohirrim don't even treat their horses like that." 

Raising both eyebrows, Thranduil put a small sardonic smile on his face. In fact, the Rohirrim treated their aged horses much better than most aging Men treated themselves, including Bard who was anything but old. 

Bard interpreted his expression correctly and waved off. "That bit of pain in my knees and my hips when it gets cold is nothing. I told you I feel the frost, but so did my father and my grandmother and much worse than me."

"And have you had that pain when you were here last year?" Thranduil was genuinely curious, for he hadn't perceived Bard to be in even minor discomfort. And while he accepted that some conditions of natural aging even his abilities in healing couldn't mitigate, he would have tried to fix any one that lay within the realm of possibility.

Bard hesitated for a moment before shaking his head and admitting, "No." He didn't seem any less angry about it though. "It's warm here and the cold isn't so pervasive this far underground even when the braziers burn down. That is still beside the point." He practically growled as he paced at the foot of the bed, discarding his heavier garments. Thranduil kept watching him though he, too, pried off his boots and unfastened the clasp that pinned his light cloak closed at the shoulder. It took a while until Bard looked up, brow knitted. "Would you please say something?"

Studying him for a moment longer, Thranduil shrugged. "I am merely waiting for you to spend your ire so I can take you to bed."

Apparently that statement came so unexpected that a laugh broke out of Bard and he eventually let out a sigh that sounded almost relieved. Then he shook his head and walked around the bed to Thranduil's side, cupped his face between both hands and kissed him with vigour. Thranduil's hands settled automatically on his hips, but he didn't make any move to take it further. 

After several heartbeats Bard broke the kiss and said, "It's not about me not wanting to be here. I do. But not in this way."

"Hm." Thranduil considered and fisted his hands into the material of Bard's tunic to draw it up and eventually reach skin. "Would you like my opinion on this?"

"By all means," Bard invited, frown still firmly in place.

A short delay to kiss his temple and then Thranduil slipped his hands fully under Bard's tunic, placed one of them in the small of his back and let fingers of the other lightly press into Bard's abdomen. Thranduil could feel him slowly calming down now, the anger stepping into the background and a whole different sort of tension rising between them. "If you can get this worked up over the mere insinuation of being old, you certainly cannot be."

That earned him a snort, but also a cocked eyebrow. "Smooth," Bard said with a lopsided grin. "Does that usually work?"

"I only need it to work with you." Thranduil grinned back but was interrupted by Bard pulling him in to press a hard kiss on his mouth that only slowly mellowed. Residual anger still tinged this kiss, teeth sharp and unyielding at first, slips only slowly growing pliable. A growl reverberated between them, Bard making them stumble back to land on the bed where they made short work of their remaining clothes. 

Bard's kiss was demanding and left Thranduil breathless, one hand roaming over Thranduil's skin, the other braced on the mattress next to him. There was an undercurrent of anger that was not directed at him, but that gave teeth to the energy between them. Thranduil could be just as unyielding and he gave as good as he got, pushing at Bard to make him roll off and over so Thranduil could work a knee between his thighs. 

He could feel the fast and steady rush of blood and the way the skin drew a little tauter as Bard hardened against him. Thranduil appreciated a willing response like this, no doubt still fuelled by irritation and annoyance. He kissed Bard's neck, biting and sucking blood into a whole different direction and the double stimulation earned him drawn-out moan. A firm grip on Bard's thigh to encourage him to let his legs fall apart further elicited another, albeit quieter sound and a nip to Thranduil's ear, then Bard pulled him in by a hand in the nape of his neck and squeezed his buttocks with the other. He knew the noise he pushed into Bard's mouth was a little needy, but he didn't care as he raked fingernails down his side, raising goosebumps.

They kept each other from staggering over the edge of arousal by gentling their grips after a little while and Bard sank into the cushions beneath him. Or so Thranduil thought, but instead Bard gathered tension and momentum to put himself between Thranduil's legs, eyes glittering. 

Laughing at the expression on his face Bard leaned in to kiss him quickly before sitting back again, eyes glittering with mirth. "Isn't it you who's preaching patience?"

"I am," Thranduil told him and let himself relax and get comfortable as Bard dribbled some oil onto his fingers and rubbed his hands to warm it. "Extremely patient, in fact."

"Much unlike the rest of the Wood-elves?" Bard asked and dragged his fingers down over Thranduil's stomach, then fondled him for a moment before Thranduil felt the pressure of Bard's fingers. A kiss was dropped on his drawn up knee.

The quiet laugh that rumbled out of Thranduil was a little breathy, but he shook his head. "And far more patient than you mere mortals." Then he knew he belied his own words because his hips bucked involuntarily when Bard pressed in deeper, which earned him a knowing grin.

"We will see," Bard murmured and did something familiar yet unexpected that let even Thranduil doubt his own words and made him jump. Chuckling Bard did it again, then carefully withdrew his fingers and scooted up to Thranduil to kiss him once more. It was still hungry and demanding, downright distracting, and then he felt pressure of a different quality. Thranduil yielded to the kiss and to the rhythm Bard set, felt the air burn in his lungs. 

Thranduil lost himself in the rhythm their bodies set for a while, the friction pushing him further and further. When Bard dug into the sensitive spot beneath his shoulder blade Thranduil hissed in surprise, something Bard had clearly intended for he chuckled low in his throat. He slowed their pace just a little, bent down to first kiss Thranduil's lips, then down his throat only to bite at the juncture of neck and shoulder. There was no way Thranduil could suppress the long, drawn-out moan that elicited, or when Bard did it again. 

But two could play this game, and Thranduil let his hands travel down Bard's body, fingernails leaving trails on his sweat-slick skin. Bard laughed breathlessly before catching his lips in another kiss and Thranduil used that distraction to roll them over and pin Bard to the mattress. This move earned him a growl from deep in Bard's chest and he grinned. They kept pushing and touching and chasing each other's lips until after a while they sent each other over the edge. 

It left them sweating and breathing hard. They lay facing each other, sharing warmth. Thranduil investigated the fresh bruise he had sucked up on his neck and swept his thumb over Bard's lips, slightly chapped from the cold of that afternoon's ride. Then they parted and Bard bit the pad of his thumb gently. The sensation went right to Thranduil's groin, still overstimulated from before, and he moaned quietly. 

Bard chuckled, increased the pressure of his teeth to make him feel the sharp edges before swiping his tongue over that mild irritation and releasing him. As he reached for Thranduil to take him in hand he whispered in mock derision, "Elves," but — still laughing quietly — leaned in to go back to those deep, searing kisses that almost cut off Thranduil's breath.

~*~

Several days later Thranduil exited the council chamber, slightly bemused. The annual council sessions usually had a long-set pattern to them: they would wait for a few stragglers, then Thranduil would open the gathering and receive reports as necessary. After that, or if reports were not scheduled for that day, his councillors would argue endlessly. This was partially because they represented opposing interests, partially because he knew some of them felt personal animosity towards each other, and it was for Thranduil to listen their haggling and then make a decision.

Not so today or, as it were, the two sessions preceding the one today. In fact, no one had been late — everyone had been present by the time Thranduil strode into the chamber — nor had they argued. Yesterday at least he had expected a short session, since he had never expected objections to their influence remaining in Dale — though usually at least one of the lords and ladies would put up a token protest to spark a discussion. The day before that and today, though, when he had asked for opinions, their mind seemed made up as if they had discussed it already among themselves, and this might just have been the shortest council session he had ever experienced during his or his father's rule. 

Núneth walked past him, her eyes on a sheaf of paper that seemed to contain a list of some sort. As speaker of the council, she kept detailed minutes of their sessions. Due to her ability to read him and their long acquaintance it vexed Thranduil endlessly that it was she who held the post, but indeed she had been the most logical choice. After all the deaths during the battles of the Last Alliance, she had been one of the most senior leaders of their people, and King Oropher had trusted her. The other councillors liked that she spoke against Thranduil when she thought it prudent, despite their familial relation. After all, she was mother to Alairë, Duinhir's wife. 

"My Lady, a word?" he asked, and she was clearly surprised when she glanced up at him.

"Certainly." She stepped aside so they would not block the way and waited for several other members of the council to pass them. "Have I forgotten something?"

"I thought maybe you would be able to answer that. Maybe you can enlighten me whether something has come to pass that I have missed. This year's' council meetings seem rather streamlined." The matter was not that he missed the endless arguments, but this sort of change aroused suspicions in him and he'd be an awful king if he missed such an obvious sign for a coup, if such it was. Not that any of his children would go along with such foolishness or that the council could have someone else waiting in the wings. This was a matter of principle.

Núneth's glance was unblinking when she answered, "With the situation as it is, our assumption was you might have other matters to occupy your time with." When he raised his eyebrow in question she added, "We are rather fond of King Bard."

The answer was so unexpected that Thranduil stood astounded for a moment. Because while the same was true for him, that should be of little concern to the council. "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

She studied him for a moment before stepping around him, saying, "If I only saw _my_ spouse and consort little more than a handful of times a year and were now blessed with a winter with him, council meetings would be the last thing on my mind."

Thranduil rolled his eyes towards the vaulted ceiling, yet called neither of his councillors back to resume their session; he was happy enough if they managed to find common ground at last. If he'd known this was what it took then he would have asked Bard to spend the winter with him years ago. He thanked Núneth for her time, shook his head and went on his own way.

Eventually he found his highly regarded consort in the most unlikely of places: the library. 

"Have you decided my old and dusty tomes are worth your time after all?" he asked as he swept in, fully aware that his court robes trailed behind him in dramatic effect. 

Unimpressed, Bard glanced up at him and waited until the door was closed behind him again. "I thought you'd be busy until well into the afternoon."

"So did I," Thranduil told him and stood behind his chair, both hands coming to rest on his shoulders and squeezing lightly. Contrary to his initial assumption, Bard was looking at a map covering the lands east of the Misty Mountains. "Apparently my council has decided that for me to spend time with my consort is far more worthwhile than have me listen to them argue year and again. Had I known it would save me from council sessions I would have instituted your winters here years ago and saved ourselves any silly discussions."

"Glad my presence is useful after all." It was barely mumbled, but Thranduil increased the pressure of his hands incrementally in reprimand. "Not that I can't relate, mind you."

The council in Dale was tiny and encompassed Bard's family to no small degree. It said something about the universal boredom experienced during those meetings if two different kindreds had the same impressions. Maybe they should also ask Dáin about his perception, though judging by the general demeanour of Dwarves everything was a bit more rowdy there.

He pressed a kiss to Bard's head — silent appreciation and commiseration — and looked closer at the map. "If not my books, what are you looking at here, why the sudden interest?"

Bard hummed in consideration and leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. The effect was blunted by their positions. "You put Bain up to this, didn't you?"

Frowning, Thranduil let go of his shoulders and slid into the chair next to him, reached out to make him turn his head so they could properly look at each other. "Whatever it might be, I have found little need for coercion, as you well know. If someone is not mine to order I merely make suggestions and whether those are followed … is largely out of my hands."

With a snort, Bard shook his head. He didn't seem angry, merely curious. "Granted, you have yet to steer me false. What did you suggest to Bain then? Something about the King of Gondor?"

"Stewart," Thranduil corrected and upon noticing Bard's frown added, "the throne stands empty."

He had told Sigrid the tale years ago during a vigil through the longest night of the year when it coincided with a darkened moon. The context had been different however, as he had impressed on her why keeping watch was important and that the remnants of the people of Númenor still held to it in the south. She had asked about that sunken island, and since he, too, knew it only from the tales of the loremasters it had lasted them until first light. He had not touched on the devastation of the War of Wrath, though he was almost sure she must have read about it in one of the tomes her father had no patience for.

"Why the sodding fuck don't they make someone else king then? They must have options if they have a Stewart!" Bard shook his head in disbelief. 

Both eyebrows raised, Thranduil looked around at the shelves around them. "I know for a fact where the book with the details on this is."

At this Bard grimaced. "Perish that thought. I'd prefer if you just told me." He touched Thranduil's cheek before dropping his hand on his arm, traced it down to his hand. "I do like listening to you."

The Northmen, much like their distant kin the Rohirrim, kept a largely oral tradition that had mingled with those of the Edain that had travelled back east after the fall of Beleriand. Sigrid with her love of the written works in Thranduil's library was an exception, yet she would serve Dale and her father — and later her brother — well with her knowledge. Over the past years Thranduil had told Bard stories that he deemed useful for him to be aware of since they pertained to the region's history, but they seldom had had the opportunity for the more elaborate tales of Men and Eldar. Maybe the time had come to remedy that much.

"I could say something about flattery now," he answered with a smile and turned his hand under Bard's to link their fingers. "Doing what you suggest would mean forfeiting Arnor, which lies beyond the Misty Mountains to the west. Aldarion has travelled there and to a small extent so has Legolas. But in truth there is an heir."

"Then why is he not on the throne?"

That was a good question and Thranduil shrugged. "This is something you will have to ask the esteemed Lord Elrond. If the keeping of that bloodline had been entrusted to me, I would not have waited almost a thousand years."

Bard's eyes widened at the sheer amount of time. "You barely waited two in my case!" Thranduil smiled, aware it was a little sardonic. "My ancestors weren't even kings!"

In answer, Thranduil shook his head. For a moment he wondered how much he should reveal, but then it was a vital component of Dale's past and Bard deserved to know. He absently stroked his thumb over the back of Bard's hand. "The way the situation in Dale was progressing at the time, I would have pressed for Girion or his son to take up that mantle eventually. Thrór was becoming ever more unstable and neither Thrain nor Thorin seemed inclined to do something about it. Duinhir's reports from the east were anything but encouraging as well and I strongly disliked the projection of what might happen. Dale spreading her influence would have prevented Duinhir from fighting on two fronts and would have saved lives of Men and Elves both." He paused. "Well. That plan became moot when the dragon came."

A long silence answered him and Bard let go of his hand to straighten the map and look at where Dale and Duinhir's settlements were marked. Without looking at Thranduil he eventually asked, "Why not go the same direction on the lake?"

"After all the devastation Smaug had wreaked it took a long time for matters to settle. Then the city on the Long Lake entered a steady decline and it seemed more prudent to bide our time and wait drawn tight into our own territory. Nothing goes close to a dragon if it can help it, as you well now." 

Bard closed his eyes, clearly struggling with the realities his ancestors had faced and the consequences Thranduil had drawn from the events to protect his own people. When he opened them again he glanced at Thranduil, a small sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "So me being king was inevitable."

"After a fashion," Thranduil answered quietly and stroked a hand through Bard's hair, letting his fingers tangle in the strands tapering off at the nape of his neck. He kept it at that length these days, and it suited him well. 

Sighing, Bard leaned into the touch and let his hand rest casually on Thranduil's knee. His eyes were still on the map, now down in the south following the run of the Anduin and the line of the White Mountains. "Fine, I can accept that. What's the problem in Gondor, then?"

"Lord Elrond has been hiding the heirs of Elendil in the north; apparently he has seen no need to take any action yet." When Bard's glance turned to him, he shrugged. "Ask him if you ever meet him, I have long given up speculating and have done what I needed to, to keep us safe."

"I will," Bard assured him, and that would be a confrontation Thranduil would pay good gold to see. Then Bard frowned. "And how do _you_ know about those heirs?"

"I know more than the likes of Lord Elrond and his precious council would want me to." Thranduil's tone was not as light as he'd aimed for and Bard rolled his eyes in answer before shooting him a suspicious glance. "In any case the time will soon come to act upon it, one way or another. To answer your initial question though, Rhovanion is not exactly contested territory, but borders are fluid and if Dale is to grow into a power to reckon with beyond our little corner, it might be time Gondor learned of this before they perceive your expansion as a threat."

Bard had grown serious and Thranduil let his hand fall away and looked at the map also. Between the Celduin, Anduin and Dorwinion, Rhovanion was now sparsely settled and true wilderland where the horse lords of Rohan didn't dwell. At the height of its power Gondor had guaranteed peace stretching far to the north, but those times had long passed and the influence of Dol Guldur did its own part. Towns and settlements had been abandoned to search for safety elsewhere. But this had been a long while ago, before even the late Lord Girion had walked the streets of his prosperous city. 

The hand on his knee was still warm through his leggings as Bard kept studying the map. "You wanted to keep Duinhir's back free," he said absently.

"Naturally." It wouldn't serve to dissemble in this point, there was no reason he would want to stab his own son in the back. 

"The Dwarves are allied to their kin in the Iron Hills, aren't they?"

"I assume so, since Dáin used to be the ruling Lord there. I would be surprised if he had left a rival faction in power." Duinhir would likely know this, he had established formal trade relations with that realm, even if it was but a trickle of trade that flowed back and forth.

Some internal struggle went on behind Bard's eyes, now staring unseeing at the large canvas in front of them. After a long while he shook his head. "If we consider the rivers a natural border … it's still a lot of territory." Thranduil glanced sidelong at the map, knowing full well what Bard was speaking of. Any further expansion of Dale would meet natural confines at the rivers Celduin and Carnen. "And there's the matter of Lake-town to consider."

"It would be disadvantageous to have such a large rival town so close to your capital," Thranduil agreed. Many people had flocked to Esgaroth after the death of Smaug and while the worst elements had been weeded out, many people there were resentful for the unerring support Dale had received from the Woodland Realm. Most of Thranduil's trade — whether necessity or luxury — went through Dale these days, cutting the lake port largely out of the equation. Many people had come seeking gold and treasure but had found a rotting dragon and the same work and toil as most other cities offered. "A kingdom is not a task for a single generation."

"No, and I'm not sure Bain will thank me for it," Bard answered and locked their gazes. Despite those misgivings he seemed calm, determined even. "But if war brews…"

"War will not find us in your lifetime or likely even Bain's." He was sure enough of that to make the statement; they had some time yet to prepare. "You have two more children, and while I know you have reservations about letting them fight — if battles there will be — they will keep your and Bain's back free."

Bard laughed, though there was little humour and no mirth in it. "Sigrid would have the lake conquered before breakfast if I asked her. I'm not sure Tilda would be interested; I think she'd rather follow her brother to Gondor or go where none of us have treaded before."

"Send her with Aldarion next time, he will keep her safe." 

"I think we made sure she could keep herself safe," Bard countered and sounded tired. "Where is Aldarion anyway? I don't think I have seen him all year."

Thranduil shook his head, not wanting to explain the logistics of why he had sent his son into what clearly was dangerous ground. "Think about a solution for Esgaroth, everything else should fall into place eventually. I cannot lend you an army, but the Rohirrim will fight for you."

"I fought for one city, I will not fight my fellow Men for another. Especially since they already resent us."

"Sometimes a show of force is all that is required, you know this well enough." Thranduil himself preferred posturing over outright fighting, even if he had proven he had no intention to shy away from necessary battles. "Though of course you cannot expect to always sue for peace."

But Bard was still reluctant and instead stood and rolled up the map to store it with the others. "We'll discuss this. A show of Elvish force certainly isn't the solution." He sighed and looked around the library. "How many lifetimes does one need for this?"

"The collecting took longer than the reading," Thranduil remarked and stood as well. It was time to drop the topic of Dale for the moment; he trusted Bard to make the right decisions eventually. But since it was probably time Bain took over active fighting, if such would be necessary, his opinion was one to consider as well. Instead Thranduil stepped up to Bard and caught his hand to kiss his fingers, an intentionally courtly gesture that earned him a lopsided smile. "Walk with me. Apparently my council is very fond of you and seeing us together."

When Bard raised his eyebrows, it apparently was not in the surprise that Thranduil had expected. "Oh, I know that. You should see how fast someone volunteers for all my tasks when they know the Elvenking is on his way. At first I thought that was your doing, but well, I hear the talk and I know it's not."

Slightly taken aback, Thranduil blinked, then laughed a little and pulled him to the door before letting go of his hand. "That is a lot more initiative than I would usually expect, even from my people."

"Judging by the reaction of your Elves and some of what Cúthalion has hinted at, we must present the best tale for them in ages." Bard sounded resigned, but preceded him out into the hallway. His shoulder brushed against Thranduil's chest and then they fell into step with each other, sleeves and hands occasionally brushing as if by accident. 

Humming in consideration, Thranduil steered them to the concourse circling the throne room where they might be seen but not easily overheard. "Possibly. Duinhir desperately trying to get the attention of Alairë and her pretending to ignore him is a long time past and neither Aldarion nor Legolas seem to be inclined to perform equally." He remembered the days in Doriath, when half the court had waited with bated breath whether the mortal child of Men would be able to fulfil the impossible task set to him by Elu Thingol to win the hand of the Princess. "You should have been here when I brought your emeralds back, I was almost positive there would be riots." 

A quiet gasp made him look over and Bard's face was mildly aghast, eyes wide with shock. Of course he had known what the customs were — they had done this properly with Sigrid and Cúthalion, though Thranduil had provided the token for the young archer — yet apparently the connection that this gift of Girion's emeralds might have been considered one of betrothal had never occurred to him. "I did not think—"

"And neither should you have," Thranduil told him resolutely but softened the words with a smile. "I told Sigrid as much when she came to stay here and asked about them. It changes nothing about what had already been established then, nor the way my people saw it. As far as they are concerned you did everything properly."

"Sigrid knew of this." It sounded mildly incredulous and Thranduil merely raised an eyebrow in answer. "Of course she did." Bard paused momentarily. "What exactly is it worth to you that I got out you out of that council meeting?"

Laughing Thranduil winked at him and did not object when Bard slowly but certainly steered them on the walkways that would eventually lead towards the living quarters.

~*~

He woke, utterly and completely, the moment Bard rolled more snugly against his back and slung an arm around his chest to draw him closer, entangling their legs. Instead of saying anything though, he just hummed in question.

"A storm has come in," Bard said into his hair.

"Winter," he answered and sighed. It was after midwinter already and they'd had enough snow to make the roads impassable, but unlike previous years the trees were not yet encased in ice. Apparently that had changed. "Of course there are storms." But even to him the air outside the blankets felt chilly and Bard's nose pressed coldly into the side of his neck. "More heat?"

"No, this is good," Bard answered and absently stroked his thumb over Thranduil's chest, drawing small circles on his skin, leaving more warmth behind. They were quiet for a while but neither of them fell back asleep; Bard kept petting and Thranduil watched the darker shapes against the night in the room, chairs and his writing desk, lamps in the corner, wicks turned down. A moment later Bard sighed against his neck, stirring his hair and nuzzling in to push the strands away. "When Sigrid and Bain were small, the middle of the night was sometimes the only time we had to ourselves. I got out of the habit to be awake for a while when Tilda would sleep through the night without the frequent nightmares she had when she was a toddler. She'd wake the whole house."

They rarely touched the topic of their wives between them; Thranduil had learned some small details and a few generalities from the children when they had been younger, and Bard had sometimes dropped some words in passing in telling a story or explaining a situation. Thranduil likewise had related few matters beyond basic facts. Those were different lives and realities, and what he and Bard very much had in common was that they faced the present with both eyes forward. They both looked at the past and remembered, but neither of them stared back. For Thranduil it was a scar of the past; the humiliation and grief had left their mark and he did not like to touch it. Death had severed the bond between them, as they had long ago agreed it would. Likewise Thranduil wouldn't assume to speak for Bard, but needless to say he had needed to find his own way to handle being on his own without breaking and taking two small children and an infant with him. 

But Bard's voice had not been tinged with pain just then, it was merely a memory that had come back to him and Thranduil let his own recollection pass and reached for the hand leaving warm trails on his chest. "There is something to be said about only raising one child at a time," he finally answered, trying for levity.

The air between them — chest to back — was warm and Thranduil raised their joint hands to kiss Bard's pulse point and felt him laugh lightly against his neck. 

"Not an option," Bard said with a sigh. "I managed to raise all three though, and now I only have to dote on my grandchildren. And rule a kingdom. Easy."

Thranduil hummed in agreement and let his fingertips travel up and down Bard's forearm. A gentle tug on a strand of his hair let him know it was being wound around a finger, a clear sign Bard might be interested in more than just talking. For now though Thranduil answered, "I can think of worse fates."

A contemplative hum sounded in his ear. "True. We could still be looking for a home or flee from the wrath of that dragon. Luckily we had a lot of help."

He kissed the pointed arch of Thranduil's ear, a thankful reminder of aid rendered and Thranduil arched his back just a little more into his chest. If truly Bard had not managed to kill Smaug, the consequences would be more dire than continued flight, considering what vengeful creatures those serpents were. Yet now was not the right moment to bring up that particular story so he let it rest and instead murmured, "Glad to oblige."

"Are you now," Bard answered and nipped at his ear this time. Thranduil had not missed the growing interest against his lower back, so he didn't protest when Bard broke the loose hold of his hand to slip it over his stomach and then lower. He was thoroughly distracted when Bard whispered, "Let's see if we can't oblige each other in some other way as well."

Chuckling, Thranduil turned around and sealed their mouths together, thumbed one of Bard's nipples and felt it draw in and harden under his touch. Squirming a little, Bard pressed closer. Their breaths quickened, the air between them grew from merely warm to heated. Bard sharply nipped at his lips, then soothed the sting again before slipping his tongue past Thranduil's lips once more. 

Thranduil stroked along his length a few times and then let off again, much to Bard's apparent disappointment, if the way he shifted beneath him, looking for contact, was any indication. "It has appeal," Thranduil allowed and felt Bard gather himself, hands going to Thranduil's shoulders. 

It seemed that Bard, too, wanted to take advantage of his healed thigh once more and rolled, pushing and prodding at Thranduil until he had him on his back, then he swung his leg over his hips and straddled him. The blanket had fallen away with their movements, the chill a shocking yet pleasant contrast on Thranduil's heated skin. Scooting back, Bard settled on his thighs and he let his hands roam over Thranduil's chest and Thranduil rested his hands, for the moment, on his thighs. Meanwhile Bard dragged his hands lower, past Thranduil's ribcage and below his navel. All of this was all done by instinct, for Bard would hardly be able to see in the night-dark room, yet his touch proceeded with the almost unerring surety.

The slowness of it made Thranduil feel his skin vibrate with arousal and when he caught Bard's gaze the smirk on his face told him that Bard knew exactly what he was doing. In retaliation Thranduil moved his hands upwards, let his fingers follow the crease between thigh and hip and drew a moan when he took hold of him once more. "A lot of appeal," he added, sounding husky even to himself.

When Thranduil pushed himself up on his elbows Bard met him halfway, bending down to fame his face with both hands and kissing deeply. Far too soon Bard broke the kiss, then pushed him down decisively and leaned over him. Moments later a whiff of citrus from the unstoppered bottle. The only reason Thranduil stayed where he was was that he knew Bard would press him back into the cushions, but he took the oil when it was handed to him. 

He held Bard's eyes, who still sat back on his thighs, until he took hold of him and stroked him a few times to full hardness. Then Bard pushed himself up and scooted that last bit forward. As he sank down on Thranduil a pleased, breathy sigh escaped him and his throat worked when he swallowed, eyes closed. It was an effort for Thranduil to hold himself still and not thrust his hips up — he wanted to, but he also wanted to wait until Bard had adjusted. Heat enveloped him and he swallowed. Bard must have heard for he opened his eyes with a smug grin on his face and reached for Thranduil's hand to entwine their fingers even as he lifted himself up a little and dank down again. 

The initial slowness of it was torture, but it also was a signal for Thranduil and soon they started moving together, finding a rhythm that pushed them closer and closer to the edge. Moans and whispers replaced conversation for a while until neither of them could hold out any longer.   
Thranduil dragged the blanket back over them much later, Bard already sleeping while pressed firmly against his side. Rousing briefly, he merely placed his head back on Thranduil's chest when they settled, sated and tired. Smiling Thranduil kissed the top of his head and went to sleep himself.

A snowstorm had indeed blazed through the woods coming down from the north with frost that probably wouldn't release its hold until spring. Council meetings to wrap up the previous growing season and developments had finished weeks ago and Thranduil had settled into his new and much improved winter routine. He still had a kingdom to govern, but life everywhere slowed down during the winter and his people, too, took time for themselves. So did Thranduil, especially when Bard went off for an afternoon or a day to pursue his own agenda.

When a very disgruntled magpie, for being used as a letter carrier instead of being entrusted with the message directly, found them the next day, they sat over a very late breakfast for having gotten sidetracked earlier. Frowning, Thranduil let the bird land on his arm and loosened the soft string of fabric used to tie the piece of paper around its leg.

"From Dale?" he asked and the magpie cawed in assent. He handed the message off to Bard and gently ruffled the feathers on the bird's chest. "Find Galion, he will have something for you. Thank you. It must be important if they had to commit it to writing."

The magpie pecked his hand, though it wasn't enough to draw blood, and flew off. Shaking his head, he sighed and glanced over to Bard, who frowned at the paper in his hands.

"I'm going to castrate him," Bard finally stated in a very matter of fact tone of voice and handed the message to Thranduil. 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow and read the letter in which Sigrid — in her messy script that, years ago, had taken Thranduil ages to be able to decipher — informed both of them that she was pregnant once more and expecting in late spring. Which meant she had already been with child — and likely known it — by the time Bard had come to spend the winter, although that early in a pregnancy too much could go wrong to tell anyone. Probably she would not even have told Cúthalion if he couldn't have heard the second heartbeat. 

"Just so you know, I want my archer back at some point," Thranduil cautioned in return and carefully set the paper on the table. He had expected that Sigrid and Cúthalion would try for another child soon, and he had also expected that her father might not react too well after the complications surrounding Eryn's birth.

Bard's mien rivalled the storm still raging outside. "You can have him back, he doesn't need his balls to shoot." He took a breath. "After what happened last time—"

"Sigrid is fine. She was fine. Do you doubt this would happen without her wanting it to?" Thranduil knew for certain Men had developed ways and means to prevent a pregnancy, and Elves had their own means of control. Those two were living as husband and wife, this was certainly not an unwanted child any more than Eryn had been unwanted. 

When Bard pushed away from the table his lips were pressed into a thin line. "That is not the point. I shall never repudiate my daughter. Your archer, for me, is expandable. Excuse me."

Thranduil watched Bard retreat and sighed once he was out of sight. Granted, for those days after Eryn's birth when the fever had raged through her mother, the situation had been critical and Sigrid had been in real danger. It had hit Bard hard, recollection of the loss of his wife and his daughter in the same position. This second pregnancy was again a reminder that life still was fragile even though they were in a situation to not worry about survival in general. This was not something Thranduil would be able to help him with. Yet he knew Bard well enough to trust him to come to terms with it. Still it was a cunning move of Sigrid's to send this message halfway through the winter to give her father enough time to get used to the idea. She had probably known Cúthalion's manhood was in danger. 

Much later that day, when Bard had not come to find him in the baths or the library, Thranduil found him at the range. There Bard was emptying a quiver of arrows into a target of straw balls shaped to roughly resemble an Orc.

"I'm still of a mind to castrate him," he said, letting another arrow fly and only when he lowered the bow Thranduil stepped close to him and Bard turned half around to kiss him quickly. They were alone, the guards behind closed doors that were supposed to prevent stray arrows. At least they would be more confused about why King Bard wanted to take shears or sword to Cúthalion than any demonstrativeness on their part.

Thranduil smirked with amusement in answer and said, "I thought you wanted grandchildren to dote on."

"I changed my mind." Bard frowned and ran his fingers along the string of the bow. Then he glanced up again, looking mildly worried. "You and me… Nothing is going to come of this, is it? In the … family way?"

The sheer idea was so ridiculous that it took a moment to catch up with Thranduil. Then he laughed and would not have been surprised if the guards had burst in in alarm. Mercifully the heavy doors stayed closed and he eventually put his hand on Bard's shoulder. "Both of us are a little old for that, or think you not?" When he saw Bard's face fall in sudden trepidation he shook his head in denial and asked, still laughing, "However did you arrive at that idea?" 

The sigh Bard heaved was in obvious relief and behind his mirth Thranduil wondered whether he had been worried about something potentially happening to one of them. "You're not the only one who tells stories. Sigrid has been very vocal about at least one High King who did not seem to have a mother as his father had never been married. Officially."

"Ah, Ereinion," Thranduil answered with a nod, then rolled his eyes. "The Noldor have always been … different. A lot of information was dissembled over the past ages, at first to protect him and later it hardly seemed to matter; his parents were dead and he did not advertise it. Some say he was a son of Orodreth and born in Nargothrond, some say Finrod only granted him a temporary resting place, because he was his cousin Fingon's son. And Fingon... Let us say Fingon and Maedhros were extremely close, even for cousins. Maybe especially for cousins."

Bard's eyes narrowed in suspicion and effort to recall the relations of the mighty Noldor. The fact that Bard could make sense of the names in the first place spoke for his vast ability to remember stories. "Wasn't Maedhros a son of Fëanor? Didn't Fëanor have only sons? And isn't Orodreth a female name? I know it's hard to tell with Elves on occasion, but I thought at least you should be able to identify gender among your own people."

"Noldor," Thranduil answered with a disdainful smile and then sobered. "Keep in mind we did not have much contact with the Noldor when they returned to Middle-earth, but from the visitors Thingol allowed into Doriath we heard rumours. Apparently Fëanor sought to snub his half-brothers by keeping up the naming tradition his own father had established and naming his children, especially his eldest, Finwë, after both of them. Therefore he couldn't possibly have a daughter." He shrugged. "I count myself lucky to only have seen them from afar, the first time they came for Lúthien's Silmaril, when my father thought to evacuate Elwing and the other survivors after Celegorm's people had seized the twins already. I heard Maedhros actually went back for them, but to no avail."

Only when his wrist was grabbed forcefully he blinked and noticed that he had clenched his fist and Bard stared at him imploringly. Thranduil had lost himself in recollection. One heartbeat, two and he relaxed his fingers and let Bard slip their hands together, squeezing lightly. "That was a long time ago," Bard told him, enunciating carefully, clearly intending to put the full amount of distance between the past and present. 

"Yes," Thranduil agreed and let go of his hand and briefly smiled in reassurance. "Anyway, that is what was being told. All mothers and fathers accounted for. You need not worry."

Bard seemed to momentarily contemplate that, then rolled his eyes and collected his bow again. "Don't think your distraction will save Cúthalion," he finally said and one last arrow thudded low into the Orc-shaped target as if to underscore his earlier threat of castration. 

In that moment Thranduil was hard pressed not to smile. Four, maybe six, weeks were left to the winter for Bard to get over the urge. Thranduil didn't even want to start imagining what he would do to the man — or Elf — that Tilda might one day allow to share her life.

~*~

The woods had turned to frozen slush, thawing incrementally during the daytime and freezing solid again in the night. All paths were treacherous and those Elves who had duties among the trees returned spattered head to toe with mud and scuff marks on their clothes and boots.

"When will it be safe to travel?" Bard asked, looking towards the Lonely Mountain and Dale from the overhang of the solar, pulling a cloak — one of Thranduil's own — tighter around himself. 

Turning around from looking through a stack of orders to be issued with the new planting season, Thranduil stepped up to him and pretended to gauge the sky. "I expect more snow."

The groan that followed was heartfelt and Bard shook his head. "If I didn't know any better I'd say it is age that makes the winters seem longer."

It was rhetorical — they both knew the cold season was lengthening — but Thranduil still felt the need to answer, "It is not your imagination."

Bard nodded and meant to say more, but they heard Galion clear his throat behind them. When they turned he said, "My Lords. The Lords Aldarion and Lucan have been spotted. With ... guests, I presume."

They exchanged a glance and surprise was clearly written in Bard's eyes. Thranduil wasn't sure what to think of this development; both Aldarion and Lucan were experienced travellers and neither of them would have chanced the roads in winter unless they had no choice. And what sort of guests they would pick up and then bring back to Thranduil's halls was beyond immediate grasp. 

According to the season his crown was decorated with evergreens and the first early snowdrops, something Bard had regarded with some scepticism in the past year. Now he seemed to take it very much in stride as they stood together next to the stairs that led to the throne, talking quietly. "What do you think?" Bard murmured as four figures were escorted onto the walkway.

Hands behind his back, Thranduil recognised Aldarion and Lucan, followed by two strangers who bore the same face. Feren brought up the rear, his hand resting subtly on his sword, the model of a guard captain. Not that any of the travellers were in a position to fight back. Aldarion was paler than usual, his clothes covered in dirt and worn thin, streaks of mud on his face; Lucan's eyes were bruised with sheer exhaustion and he looked thinner than he had in the fall. The twin strangers were equally pale, downright haggard, their clothes muddy and torn, traces of blood on their faces. Exhaustion emanated from all of them, though Lucan appeared ready to collapse.

Thranduil shook his head in answer to Bard's question. "Nothing anyone expected."

"Father," Aldarion proclaimed when they all reached the throne eventually, and he greeted both of them with the gesture of long familiarity. "We have come seeking shelter for what remains of the cold season. We have travelled hard these past few weeks and are in need of rest."

Thranduil greeted his son likewise and stepped forward between Bard and everyone else. "And you shall have it. Who are your guests?"

His son turned and exchanged a fleeting look with Lucan, then Aldarion faced Thranduil again and said, "Let me introduce Elladan and Elrohir of Imladris, the sons of Lord Elrond."

As he heard the indrawn breath of surprise behind him, Thranduil let the words pass through his mind again but refrained from shaking his head in exasperation. He could see it in the quirk in their mouths, their bearing that reminded him of Elrond's fighting days. Instead he smiled in a way that had put fear into his sons' bones even when they had been little, but that outwardly seemed perfectly pleasant. "You are far afield from Imladris. Of course you are welcome in my halls. I would ask after your travels, yet you seem exhausted and the tale will certainly keep." He took a step to the side and Bard caught the hint and strode forward, but still didn't come up to him. "You have never met King Bard of Dale?"

The twins shook their heads as one and then one of them took a step forward. "King Thranduil, we thank you for your hospitality. We will gladly answer all your questions in regards to our appearance before your throne." He hesitated for a second before continuing, "King Bard, we are honoured to meet you."

Bard nodded at them in acknowledgements but didn't make any pronouncements of his own. By rights his position at court would have permitted him to, but Thranduil would just as much have him take the twins' measure first. 

With the necessary greetings exchanged, Thranduil bade Galion lead them to the guest quarters. Aldarion remained for a moment longer and their eyes locked; his son knew what was expected of him once he had cleaned up and gotten settled. They exchanged a final nod and then Aldarion and Lucan — who had remained silent through the entire exchange, but also appeared hardly able to stay on his feet — turned and walked away as well. 

Off to his side, Bard let out an audible breath. "So those were … Elves of Rivendell?"

"That fits their situation surprisingly well, as I would count them among none of the kindreds. Their father would probably count them among the Noldor," Thranduil said grimly and stepped to his side, placed a firm hand to the small of his back and led him on the paths that snaked into the private wing from the behind the throne. "I have never met them before, they were born after the Last Alliance. Elrond's sons… This is disturbing."

Bard glanced at him to gauge his reaction, but he couldn't muster up a smile right then. "Aldarion must have a reason for bringing them."

"Indubitably so." They entered the solar and Thranduil placed his crown on its stand. "Most likely it is what it seems, he ran into them on his way here and chose not to leave them on their own. A prudent decision, all things considered." Elrond would take up his sword again if he found out his sons had been possibly eaten by spiders. "Still, the way they looked, there is a story behind it and I would greatly prefer it if they did not bring their problems into my realm. Or give Elrond another opening to meddle after he finally stopped sending messages."

The smirk and slight narrowing of Bard's eyes was far too amused for his tastes, but then he stepped up and took Thranduil's face between his hands and kissed him for a while before resting their foreheads together. His hands dropped and encircled Thranduil's waist. "You're just annoyed someone other than you would meddle."

"I hardly meddle." Thranduil would have stepped away bristling if he hadn't been caught in the embrace. 

"Only when it concerns your interests," Bard countered, voice still full of mirth. "I know." He kissed him again, a slow slide of lips and tongue which went on for a few moments, and Thranduil heard Bard's breath and felt his heartbeat against his own chest even through their layers of clothes. "Would you be this vexed if it wasn't Elrond but that kinsman of yours in the south?"

Thranduil sighed against his lips and stroked down from his shoulders, let his hands rest at his elbows. "Celeborn is their grandfather."

That made Bard go still for a brief moment and then Thranduil could see him roll his eyes. "Your Elvish family relations really are a bloody sodding mess, have I ever told you that?"

Chuckling, Thranduil kissed him once more. "You might have."

Bard grumbled, and then sighed a small regretful sigh and let him go. "Do you want me here?"

He meant when Aldarion would come to speak with him in a little while, and though Thranduil was tempted he shook his head. Ultimately Aldarion and Bard had an easy relationship with each other; Aldarion and Lucan often wintered in Dale. But this would be easier to resolve — and would require fewer explanations for the moment — if it was just Thranduil and his son. 

Bard answered him with a lopsided smile and squeezed his hand. Before he took his leave he said, "I'll find Galion and see if he settled our guests to everyone's satisfaction. And perhaps see whether Lumdor is panicking in the kitchens over unexpected noble guests. I assume Noldor have a reputation, the way you talk about them."

It was longer than Thranduil had anticipated before Aldarion found him. His son had bathed and changed into fresh clothes, but even so he looked tired. In light of that, Thranduil offered him mulled wine that was gratefully accepted and then made him sit on the bench. Aldarion stretched out his legs and sighed, not looking at him and instead studying the cup intently. "I'm sure you are wondering why I brought them."

"Among other things," Thranduil told him levelly and took a better look at his son. "Where is Lucan?"

Aldarion shook his head. "I barely convinced him to leave the baths awake. He fell so deeply asleep while I was getting dressed, I didn't have the heart to wake him. We pushed too hard for too long, he needs the rest." When he turned his head and looked at Thranduil, he could clearly read the questions in his father's eyes. Contemplatively he took a sip of wine. "We had no trouble on our way south, actually it went almost too smoothly. But under no circumstances could we have spent the winter in Rohan. Most people left there are either loyal to Fengel or too desperate not to be and while Lucan would have chanced it, I refused to. We chanced a few hamlets where no one would know to even think who Lucan might be, but eventually we headed north again. When the weather turned on us it still didn't look so bad, we took shelter when we could, but overall it was not the worst I've ever seen."

Out of all his children, Aldarion was the best travelled, and that experience and the ability to judge situations correctly had probably saved his life a few times. "What changed?"

Silence reigned for a few moments and then his son shook his head. "You know how sometimes when the storms have blown themselves out or when the snow is not so bad yet, the days are crystal clear for a week or so?" He nodded and Aldarion continued, "We hit a spell of brilliant weather, I guess a combination of still being far enough south and a lull between snow fronts. Around where the Sîr Ninglor joins the Anduin we started to see bodies of large animals, of wargs, on the other side of the river. We made good time, for the season, but the horses needed rest even though we didn't ride, and everything just takes longer. We kept seeing the bodies, but they stayed on the western shore. Ten miles south of the Old Ford, it was snowing heavily and we were talking about making camp, then we saw two figures fighting even more wargs. I recognised them from our time across the mountains. We pressed for the ford and I wanted Lucan to go on with the horses while I crossed, doubled back and did what I could to help. He wouldn't have it of course, the fool."

That had probably been for the best, because no matter how hardened, a single man alone in the northern winter would probably not have survived. Even with favourable weather, bandits or some other wild creature might have done him in. "He came with you?"

Nodding, Aldarion looked into his cup, curled his lip. "The ride there, crossing and doubling back took most of two days, the horses didn't want to walk through the half-frozen water, the ice was treacherous, the weather getting worse…" He pressed his lips together. "When we arrived… I know them, I met them when we were in Rivendell looking for Legolas. He went riding with them, they were friendly with us." 

For a moment Aldarion seemed lost in recollection, then he shook his head as if to get rid of a mental image. He gave Thranduil a feeble smile. "I haven't been as cold as I was at that river bank in a while. I couldn't be worried about Lucan or the horses, because when we arrived Elrohir was lying on the ground, truly they were both hurt and bleeding, but one of the wargs had torn into his thigh and Elladan was trying to get it to stop trying to rip apart his brother." He looked up and some of the shock was still written in his eyes, and Thranduil was starkly reminded of a much younger Aldarion figuring out what mortality meant. That had been a long time ago though, he didn't think his son even still remembered it. "I've never seen so many wargs, Ada. It was sheer luck they made it."

"And then you brought them back here?" Thranduil asked and took the cup of wine away to refill it. "Why not ride south to Lórien?"

Aldarion accepted his cup back and frowned as if that had never occurred to him. "I helped Elladan with Elrohir and they said they had been hounded by the creatures for days already, which doesn't surprise me considering how many there were. They'd been driven north, I'm not sure why. But I thought it better to take the road I knew best, and to be able to duck into the forest if I had to." 

Thranduil shot him a glance that expressed exactly how bad an idea that would have been. 

"I know. Still, it was my best call and I didn't want to run into another horde of wargs. We only stopped to rest the horses when necessary, but it still took longer than it should have. When we ran into bad weather... Even stretching our supplies, we ran out since the twins had lost theirs days ago. Truthfully I'm surprised we all made it in one piece, I was worried we'd lose Elrohir because he wasn't recovering well—" He took a breath, searching for his bearings. "Or Lucan," he added in a small voice. 

In a way Lucan had been Aldarion's most constant companion in a long while. Thranduil's son was just as happy going off by his own; over the millennia he had always found other travelling companions, sometimes for days or weeks or years. Once he had brought another Elf with him who Thranduil strongly suspected was an offspring of the Avari, who had wandered Middle-earth ever since they had awoken far off in the east, but he had never asked. Usually the companions would part ways again after a while, but Lucan seemed to be with him for the duration. Granted, Lucan's situation was extraordinary, and as long as his father lived, and upheld the order of execution, he had no home to return to. 

Thranduil waited until Aldarion looked at him and then smiled reassuringly. "The woods were quiet?"

"As far as we could see. Admittedly I did not pay as much attention as I should have."

Thranduil nodded. "Elrohir is recovered?"

"Mostly, yes. I don't think they expected the winter to be as cold as it was. The weather in Imladris is milder."

"Lórien's would be, too." When Aldarion threw him a curious look he shook his head. No need to trouble him with talk about the Rings now, when that knowledge might never be crucial. "More guests for the rest of winter, then."

Aldarion shrugged, then grinned. "We wouldn't want you and Bard to get bored here all by yourselves."

In answer, Thranduil shot him a haughty glance before raising one corner of his mouth in a smirk. "Go. I expect you for supper, both of you. Even if you have to wake Lucan."

He had questions for the brothers and he wanted as many ears as possible to listen to the answers.

When he arrived for supper with Bard a customary half-step behind him, Legolas was talking in animated excitement with the twins, smiling hugely. The table was set as lavishly as guests of high station such as Lord Elrond's children required, although modestly enough to allow the consideration that nominally it was still the season of privation. They sat with Thranduil at the head, Bard to his left and Aldarion on his right, the twins at the side of either of them followed by Lucan and Legolas on the other. The twins still seemed exhausted but were clearly as glad to see Legolas as vice versa; Aldarion appeared tired and not inclined to talk any more than he already had, while the dark rings under Lucan's eyes had receded a little. He was still extremely pale and too thin, but he was his usual stoic self, though now his straw-coloured hair had been washed and hung past his shoulders. 

Which was why Thranduil directed his questions at the twins directly. "Aldarion tells me of some of your troubles. I would know how you came to meet a pack of wargs in the first place. And why you were abroad in severe weather."

"We did not expect it to be this much of a problem," said Elladan. "Rivendell and Lórien have milder winters, and while Eriador can get cold, we would usually stay somewhere for the cold season."

"Our sister resides in Lórien right now," his brother added. "We were visiting her this year. We expected to be back there before long, we meant to hunt Orcs that had been sighted coming out of the mountains."

In the dead of winter. Bard shot Thranduil a glance from the corner of his eye, rolled them only for him to see, yet didn't stop slowly spooning his soup. On his other side Aldarion focused intently on the bowl in front of him. This was Thranduil's table though, so he continued, "Wargs set upon you then?"

"And drove us north," Elladan answered. "We're not sure where they came from. A few times we escaped them, but we never dared double back or try to cross the river. The horses would never have made it. I'm surprised they came out of this alive."

So was Thranduil and by Lucan's grim expression down the table, so was he, and as a Rohir he knew a thing or two about horses. None of that answered the question of why they would have chanced it in the first place, but if they would not say he had no way to question them. They were guests and needed to be treated as such.

Elrohir spoke up then, "Legolas told us about Dol Guldur. In Lórien we heard about that place as well, but Legolas says it is teeming with Orcs and other hideous creatures."

Rolling his eyes, Thranduil exchanged a glance with Bard who seemed equally annoyed to be confronted with this topic again.

At this Aldarion set aside his spoon and looked up. "I cannot confirm this. I did not tell you this, because we had other concerns then, but we were on reconnaissance. Dol Guldur seems utterly quiet, we saw nothing for the two weeks that we spent there watching."

Legolas scowled. "Yes, it seemed so. You did not enter, did you?"

"Of course not," Aldarion told his brother resolutely and the fell silent once more. It told Thranduil that Aldarion considered the matter settled and his report finished. He and Lucan had been sent out to determine whether any acute danger originated at Dol Guldur, and they had found this not to be the case. If this was a result of the season or the fact that the former fortress stood empty was indeterminable. 

Still, Legolas looked vindicated, even more so when Elladan said, "You should have. Orcs cannot be left to roam." 

Frowning Thranduil sought to diffuse the tension that was starting to build and lay the topic to rest. "Have you news of Lord Celeborn? You say you spent the year in Lórien, you must be able to tell us how he is."

The exchange that followed was forced, although it was pleasant enough to pass for polite conversation between the lord of a realm and his ennobled guests. At least until Elrohir said, "We have heard, of course, about Dale being newly founded; father and Glorfindel talked of it. We were unsure whether elevating it to a kingdom was a well thought-out move, however. Father mentioned the Dwarves were not a threat."

For a half a heartbeat Thranduil was so surprised he didn't respond immediately. Not only was it incredibly inconsiderate towards Dale and the northern kingdoms in general; saying so in front of the King of Dale could lead to a diplomatic incident. Thranduil at least knew on whose side he would be in this, although that was not a situation he relished — and neither, he imagined, did Bard or Elrond. 

Elrohir added insult to injury in the next breath. "It is very kind of you to let the King of Dale spend the winter in your realm. I suppose the city is very dangerous? Our father also has a ward. It seems odd though, that a king would not be with his people."

A quiet gasp from Lucan followed those words. 

From the corner of his eye, Thranduil saw Aldarion glance longingly towards the door. 

A clatter from the hallway showed that one if his attendants had been close enough to hear as well.

Ruthlessly quelling his anger, Thranduil wondered whether to move the guest quarters to the dungeons. He took a breath for a scathing remark in return when he felt Bard's foot press against his calf. They exchanged a glance from the corner of their eyes and Bard shook his head imperceptibly, just enough for Thranduil to know.

Instead Bard cleared his throat. "I will want you to know that Dale is very well able to hold its own and has trade relations that stretch all the way into Rhûn and Dorwinion," he said in his clear and almost perfectly enunciated Sindarin honed in contract negotiations, as well as with the Elves of Dale and by his time in the Woodland Realm. 

Judging by the wide eyes and slack jaws, the twins were more than a little surprised at this development. 

"So far we have concentrated to spread our goods east; since you are from the west you might be forgiven for not knowing about our new toys yet. The Dwarves of Erebor still remembered Dale's flourishing markets and our craftsmen worked with both them and the Elves living with us now to rediscover those skills that are our heritage. We are tremendously thankful for their help, and I am the first to admit that without the assistance of King Thranduil we would have been unable to survive the first winter, but we have long fulfilled our bilateral agreements and more. The last remnant of our struggles eight years ago is the carcass of a dragon in the Long Lake that I put there myself."

On Thranduil's right, Aldarion had gone from looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but sitting in his seat to trying to suppress a grin at any cost. Down the table Lucan apparently sat on his hands, his lower lip bloody where he bit into it. Even Legolas smiled and shook his head.

Meanwhile Bard exuded an unconcerned air as he tore a piece of bread apart into roughly bite sized pieces. Beneath the table he slowly but certainly slid his booted foot up and down Thranduil's calf. "Recently we have started to extend our territory further towards our allies in the east." Then he raised his head and glanced at the twins in turn. "I take my duties to my kingdom seriously, with us Men that also means preparing my son and my daughters and their children for their own duties. At the same time, I cannot forget that as King Thranduil's consort I also have duties close to my heart here in the Woodland Realm. Dale prides itself in being a strong ally to both the Elves and the Dwarves, we understand that this does not only mean our mutual safety but also a guard for the settlements and passes that lie beyond forest and wilderlands."

The faces of both twins were flushed crimson, whether with embarrassment at having been caught talking down on a king or at something else that had been said Thranduil could not tell. 

He also did not particularly care, for he was far too ecstatic about the way Bard had delivered that riposte, it had been beautiful and on the mark and completely within his rights with the proper level of insult after what might be construed as defamation. Utterly spectacular. Instead of entertaining the thought of ravishing Bard right there on the table any further, Thranduil affected a falsely impassive mien and only raised his eyebrow fractionally in appreciation of that speech and received a half smile in return. A few seats down the table, Legolas rolled his eyes in exasperation while Lucan had also flushed, though more from suppressed laughter than embarrassment. 

Both twins remained silent through the rest of supper, whether because they didn't want to be caught red handed again or because they were not sure what topic to speak of now remained unclear. Thranduil asked Aldarion about his plans for the coming year and Bard suggested maybe he would want to speak to Bain about accompanying him on his upcoming travels as surely he would profit from Aldarion and Lucan's superior experience. A few times it looked as if Elladan would want to say something, but he never did until the end of their meal. 

Bard and Thranduil retired soon after, though not to their customary talk and wine in the solar. Instead their destination was the bedchamber. On the way there Bard muttered in annoyance. "What were they even thinking?"

It was something Thranduil had considered as well; the brothers should be familiar with mortals who spoke Sindarin, many of them had been in Imladris when Thranduil had still frequented there. On the other hand, Rhovanion did not have a reputation of learnedness and even the allies of Gondor were, while literate, not interested in higher forms of intellectual pursuit. 

"Not much," he finally answered and received a glance that said better than any words, _Well, obviously_.

"As if we're still on the teat of the Woodland Realm," Bard continued, anger still not spent and Thranduil understood why. Dale had worked hard on becoming independent as fast as possible, even including its own defensibility. The presence of the Rohirrim had helped, seasoned warriors and their horses, yet Dale had done what they could and they had done well. To have that diminished in this way had to chafe. 

On the other hand, this was one of the few times Bard actually acknowledged that he was King of Dale by his own power instead of by the grace of the Elvenking and the King under the Mountain, so Thranduil couldn't hide a smile. 

Bard glanced at him. "What are you laughing at?"

"I merely am appreciating your righteous indignation," he told him and laughed outright when Bard huffed and rolled his eyes. When the door to the bedchamber closed behind them Thranduil quickly stepped up to Bard and cupped his face in his hands, kissed him fiercely. "I have trouble determining what pleases me more, when you piss of Dwarves or put Elrond's children in their place," he murmured between kisses, leaving Bard mildly breathless.

"I suppose Dwarves are a commodity easier to come by these days," Bard answered, both hands fisted in Thranduil's tunic.

"True," he agreed. For a little while their ragged breathing was the only sound in the room. He nipped sharply at Bard's lips as he pushed him against the wall, was rewarded with a brief moan. "That was thrilling to witness. I almost ravished you right there on the table."

Bard laughed low in his throat, started to unlace Thranduil's tunic with nimble fingers. "I'm sure everyone else would have been thrilled. Them and your attendants." He failed for the second time to loosen a clasp and growled. "Do you have to wear these overcomplicated clothes?"

"It was an occasion of state," Thranduil answered and brushed his hands away to undo the hooks and lacings himself while Bard leaned in and sucked a kiss into the hollow between his collarbones. He sighed, shuddered when teeth scraped along his skin. "My attendants are used to the whims of their king."

Humming in appreciation, Bard left off and returned his attention to his mouth again, kissing deeply as he pushed off his tunic, letting it slide to the floor. "Elves," he huffed into his mouth, which turned into a pleased sigh when Thranduil worked his knee between his thighs. In answer he raked his short blunt nails down his back and Thranduil hissed when he hit that one spot below his shoulder blade. 

They kept kissing and touching for a while longer, undoing clasps and laces of clothes, until Bard pushed gently against his chest to make him move. He followed, never losing contact, mouths warm and pliant against each other. Bard still smelled of the bath they'd taken before dinner, soap of olive oil and laurel and lavender, of sweat and his own musky scent. It was heady and familiar and Thranduil made sure to keep close, kissing behind Bard's ear, nose briefly buried in his hair. By almost mutual agreement they started walking towards the bed, Bard keeping hold of his waist, pressing thumbs into his hipbone as they went. 

"Planning to ravish me still?" he asked hoarsely, punctuating his words with kisses and gentle nips down Thranduil's neck.

"Always," he answered and exposed more of his throat while linking their hands. When Bard bit the juncture of neck and shoulder he swallowed thickly. "Though who ravishes whom will remain to be seen."

Bard laughed easily and pressed against him, skin to skin, one arm lightly encircling his waist.

His knees buckled easily when they bumped against the mattress, and Thranduil was pulled along and went willingly. When he took Bard in hand he tensed briefly in answer and then stretched out languidly, a pleased sigh escaping him that Thranduil kissed from his lips. Bard took hold of his arms almost bruisingly to keep him in place and encourage him to rest more of his weight on top of him. Thranduil kept lightly teasing along his length, just firm enough to be arousing and not tickle uncomfortably, as Bard stroked his hands over his hips and the small of his back and then went lower, teasing touches of his own. 

It turned out that being ravished by an opinionated dragonslayer after he had insulted guests held far greater appeal for Thranduil.

When they lay next to each other later, sweat cooling on their skin, Thranduil propped himself up on his elbow ach reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Bard's ear. Bard caught his hand and kissed the palm, then toyed with his fingers. "I didn't overstep any boundaries with the twins?"

At this Thranduil made a dismissive sound, shook his head. "Since when are you concerned with something like that?"

Bard still held his hand, idly rubbed along his fingers. "I wouldn't want to start a war with your Lord Elrond. I don't think we can afford it."

"He is hardly _my_ Lord Elrond," Thranduil bridled with a frown. "You have met Glorfindel, they must be used to … strong opinions. And you are not a mere lord."

"Didn't you say he was reborn?"

"All of us who die get reborn in Valinor eventually, Glorfindel is just someone even the Valar had no interest in keeping. One wonders what they will do when he decides to sail."

The glance Bard shot him was clearly calculating, but then he seemed to let go whatever had come to mind first. "That sounds very reassuring. Wonder if my dragon slaying skills would be of any use?"

"Well, Glorfindel slew a Balrog, by all accounts."

"Great. Is that good or bad?" When Thranduil studied him with mock disdain, Bard laughed and shoved against his chest. "So is Glorfindel likely to come for my hide?"

Shifting his hand Thranduil linked their fingers properly and rested them on Bard's stomach, then leaned in to kiss him quickly. "You are a king, you rank above them. Even as my consort you do, and the twins are ennobled, yet not princes since their father has claimed no kingship. I also have trouble imagining Elrond would condone this kind of behaviour, whether you understood or not, which they clearly did not think likely."

With a frown Bard turned towards him. "I thought you Elves are all so high and mighty that you outrank us Men by default."

"Few would think so, though I will not dispute that there are those who do." He paused for effect and leaned in for another kiss that lingered and then slid into another, gentler and quieter than their earlier urgency. "Of course I would never presume that much."

"Of course not," Bard answered and raised his head for another kiss. His grip on Thranduil's hand tightened a little and he rolled towards him, pushing him back in the process. Bard went with the motion and tucked his face into the crook of Thranduil's neck, breathing deeply. "This is all very complicated with you Elves."

"Not so much," Thranduil disputed and raised his free hand to stroke it up and down his back. They were quiet and he just let Bard rest against him, gently dragging his fingertips over his skin, sometimes light enough to tickle which he knew by the tiny nips against his skin that he received in immediate retaliation. "Do you want to sleep?"

"No." The tiny nips turned sharper, were then being soothed again, moved over his jaw. "I don't think so. I'm not sure I'm up to this again but … I'll be happy to make it worth your while."

"Well then, by all means." Thranduil gathered momentum and rolled them over once more so he was bracketing Bard's hips with his knees. He bent forward and his hair curtained them both as he leaned in. He rested their foreheads together while Bard's hands roamed over his body. "With what you said, can I then assume that you will not argue about staying with me during the winter any more?"

The laugh that answered him was startled, tinged with the beginnings of arousal. "You want to talk about that now?"

"It is a simple answer." He kissed him, butterfly kisses to the corners of his mouth, his cheeks, the bobbing swell of his throat as he breathed. "You said your duties here were important."

Bard snorted and reached up to press a proper kiss to his mouth. "Of course you would remember that." Thranduil waited, carefully touched his tongue to Bard's lips only to withdraw again. "If Bain goes, Sigrid will need help next winter." 

Cocking an eyebrow Thranduil regarded him sceptically. That made Bard roll his eyes and end that part of their discussion by kissing him again, deeply and unconditionally and when he rolled them over again, Thranduil decided to take that as assent. He didn't doubt that next year they would have another disagreement about this, simply because Bard was stubborn to the core, but now the man himself had said he belonged to the Woodland Realm for a time. 

The rest of their night was more drawn out, slower and gentler than their mood of excitement and anger and permitted earlier and when they did finally sleep, the first light of a winter morning was already dawning outside. Thranduil could feel it, but he did not care, merely pulled Bard — already breathing deeply — closer to him and shut his eyes.

~*~

The rhythm of their days changed after that, as the twins' presence proved surprisingly disruptive. Thranduil's halls were wide, yet for some reason the brothers seemed to be everywhere. Almost immediately Legolas had been taken with them, a friendship rekindled from years ago in Imladris apparently and the three of them were seen together often. A few times Thranduil found their quiet conversations suddenly silenced when they became aware of him, and he was not sure what to think of that. Other times he would find all three in the library and they would speak of Elrond's collection. As their official host he could not evade or even evict them.

Snow had come in again, as he had predicted, making the roads and paths even more treacherous than they had been by hiding icy patches under a fresh layer of white snow. Bard had sighed in annoyance and probably cursed him for being right. Sitting still all these weeks had made him restless, an expected development. 

Contrary to the twins, Thranduil had not seen much of Aldarion or Lucan in the first week. They had not sequestered themselves so much as sought to spend their days differently. Most of the time Lucan could be found in the stables, currying the horses who had accompanied them to exhaustion through the winter in the wilderlands, speaking to them in low tones. Those were ministrations not necessarily required among the Elves with all their powers of healing, but no matter whether exiled or not, Lucan was of the Rohirrim and would not be kept from it. Aldarion on the other hand spent his days in the library and at the range, where Bard probably saw more of him than Thranduil.

Yet that was not the place Bard could be found most often. Instead he retreated to the kitchens. His sweet tooth was known in the Woodland Realm and the staff had taken to leaving out some treats while they worked around him. When Thranduil found him now, he was just licking something off his fingers. 

"You're a rare sight down here," Bard said, glancing at the staff who seemed irritated because contrary to Bard, Thranduil seemed to be in their way and they were forced to give them space or abandon their work entirely. 

"Maybe I missed you," Thranduil simply stated and, in an unobserved moment, dropped a brief kissed on his lips, tasting honey. 

An incredulous laugh startled out of Bard and he chased his lips. "I think you know very well the twins would never think of coming here."

"Perhaps," he countered and gave him a haughty glance. "You also have a good reason, I presume?"

"I'm trying to convince Lumdor to brew me some ale next year." Bard peered after the Elf in question, who looked away quickly, caught blatantly watching his king and consort. "I'm not sure you're aware of this, but the kitchen has the best gossip. Which we're contributing to right now, I assume."

Thranduil leaned in and whispered quietly enough that it was for Bard's ears only, "The guards and the kitchen have been warring since the Second Age who has the best gossip." He stood upright once more, raising one haughty eyebrow, fully aware that now they were being watched outright. "I like to provide a little incentive once in a while."

In answer Bard smirked and reached to twist a strand of Thranduil's long hair around his index finger. "Incentive, is it?"

~*~

As in the previous year, Bard was eager to be back in Dale, all the more because of Sigrid's pregnancy. Despite the presence of the twins Thranduil wanted to accompany him and would not have that questioned. Aldarion offered to take on his father's duties as host, but it turned out the brothers also would be gone.

"I can accompany them," Legolas offered. "I know my way to the mountains and the fords across the river."

At this Thranduil narrowed his eyes briefly, then exchanged a glance with Aldarion, who shrugged minutely. "We would come with you, maybe we can give Bain some advice about his travels to Gondor." 

Thranduil nodded his assent; Aldarion and Lucan were well liked in Dale, not least because the resident Rohirric population liked to be reminded that they were not alone in their exile, whether it was self-imposed or not.

Thranduil and Bard bade farewell to the twins, and safe travels and return to Legolas, before the two groups set off on opposite roads.

When they rode into Dale in the afternoon, people hailed Bard from the fields if they were near the roads. It was no secret that their king had made the Woodland Realm his second home a long time ago — much as it was no secret that he took the Elvenking to his bed — but the people of Dale were always glad to see him return.

Feren's men were garrisoned with the other Elves and Men as per usual and Tauriel walked up to him smiling to greet him. When Bard and Thranduil, with Ithril in their wake, rode into the citadel grounds they heard the bright laughter of small children. The pennant of Dale fluttered in the wind and soon Thranduil's banner would fly below it. They passed the inner gate and rounded towards the living quarters before they saw the source: Dáin sat on a low wall in the inner courtyard, Amariël's son clinging to his leg, Eryn sitting on his lap and pulling on his beard and another Elfling was hiding behind his back in the flower bed. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at the display and let the reins of his mount go to be taken away. Bard merely laughed next to him. 

At the sound of hooves and laugher Dáin looked up and Eryn turned around, squealing, "Grandda!", and stretching her arms out to him, almost tumbling off Dáin's lap.

"Careful," the Dwarf rumbled and set her down so Bard could scoop her up.

She slung her arms around his neck and put her head on his shoulder he murmured, "Oh, Princess, you've gotten big." She giggled when his stubble tickled her. 

Thranduil looked down at Dáin, who still had two Elflings climbing around him. "Are you doing this at cost or have the gold stores in the Mountain run so low that you need to hire out personally?"

The King under the Mountain glowered at him, but instead of answering he turned to Bard. "I came to talk to your beautiful and capable daughter. For that I am even willing to look after wee pointy-ears."

"Very kind of you," Bard answered with a serious nod.

"Da?" Sigrid's voice sounded from the doorway, and when they turned she exited with Cúthalion behind her. She laughed at Bard's incredulous expression at her swollen belly; she was either further along than Thranduil had expected or this child would be a lot bigger than Eryn had been. Bard passed the girl to Thranduil and embraced his daughter tightly.

"I miss you, Ada," Eryn told Thranduil earnestly in Sindarin, and when he caught Cúthalion's long-suffering glance at the family term he smirked over her head. He didn't think it likely that she would drop it any time soon if she hadn't since she learned to talk. "Uncle Dáin brought me a tiara."

Eryn had her own head, and by now Thranduil had stopped arguing how Dáin was a Dwarf and could not possibly be her uncle. He would try again when she was older and more reasonable. Even though that sly Dwarf had pre-empted him this time with the gift that befitted a noble-born Elf, or Half-elf. "That is very kind of him," he told her while giving her a hug. "I missed you, too." He set her down and she grinned before going back to play with the other children, now supervised by Cúthalion. 

Bard stood with Sigrid and Dáin, listening to a summary of an uneventful winter. When Thranduil stepped up to Cúthalion the younger Elf said, "I have nothing to report. Neither, I think, does Tauriel."

Thranduil nodded, then glanced over his shoulder at Sigrid. "Bard is not pleased with you."

"I hardly thought he would be." The expression on Cúthalion's face told him he knew exactly how his father-in-law had reacted. "All will be well this time."

These were empty words, as far as Thranduil had gotten to know Cúthalion, hopeful ones but lacking the substance of truth. Still, he would not dispute them and he didn't know them to be a lie either, so he too would hope. 

"She looks happy," Thranduil conceded and Cúthalion smiled at him. "I tried to convinced Bard castrating would depreciate you as an archer. Success of that is still pending."

Cúthalion grimaced again. "I better don't stay alone with him for the next while."

A few minutes later Sigrid joined them and Thranduil let her embrace him, careful not to crowd her. "Giving your father grief was not your intention, I suppose," he whispered to her and she laughed against his chest.

"He will be happy about it," she assured him. "He _is_ happy about it, I think. I couldn't ask for more help, and Cúthalion is looking out for me even when I tell him I don't need it." Her head still rested against his chest and he could feel the baby move inside of her as he stroked over her hair. Of course Cúthalion was looking out for her, as he always would. It was a sentiment Thranduil understood all too well. "You and Da are well?"

"Has he told you about the surprise Aldarion and Lucan brought along?"

Laughing she let go of him. "He has, and I'm sure he never wants to meet other Elves again."

"Maybe that would be for the best," he told her with a heartfelt sigh. Eryn chose that moment to grab her mother's skirts and Thranduil bent to pick her up once more to ease the strain on Sigrid. She kissed her daughter and pushed at Thranduil to make him move towards the palace, leaving her husband to make sure the two Elflings got home safely. "Tell me," he asked, "is Dáin here to discuss your project?"

She smirked at him. "The Dwarves have started, I'm waiting for Da to figure it out." When he raised an eyebrow at her for that insolence, she shrugged. "I learned from the best. The Dwarves should visit your realm soon, Cúthalion will accompany him since Tauriel is … unable to."

Thranduil sighed, aware that Tauriel was a loose end right now that he would have to tie up eventually — she had more than served her penance — and nodded his agreement. Soon Aldarion and Lucan joined them as they congregated for supper in the kitchen. It fell short of a dining hall, but Bard insisted that feasts were being held in the great hall and guests of state might as well be hosted there. His family, he claimed, did not need it. 

By now Eryn was asleep in her bed in her parents' bedroom, and Sigrid leaned against Cúthalion, who had his arm slung around her and stroked her belly. Thranduil saw Bard watching them with a small smile on his face; she had been right, he was happy about the pregnancy even if he feared for her safety.

"Wouldn't it be very obvious if I went to Gondor in the company of Elves?" Bain asked presently, turned towards Aldarion. 

Aldarion shook his head. "I have not been there, but they should be more familiar with our kind than anyone else." He paused. "Gondor is an ally to Rohan though, they might know Lucan."

The Rohir glanced around the table and shrugged. "King Fen— my father never introduced me to his guests. Now that I am exiled, they would do best not to know me. And I am sure my brother cares little for me, though I also heard he fled to Minas Tirith. We were kept apart by our status and by age. I doubt he has told the Stewart about me when he was granted asylum in his own exile."

"Still, with so many refugees they would recognise a lord of their own people," Aldarion argued and Bain nodded. 

"I am no lord." Lucan's eyes found Aldarion's and a silent exchange took place at whose end Lucan shrugged once more. "If you want to accompany Bain, I can remain in Dale."

At this Aldarion shook his head and glanced away, but he did not make a comment. Bain frowned. "How dangerous is Rhovanion?"

"I would not recommend you go alone," Thranduil advised. "Take Tauriel and others from the guard with you in addition to your men. Right now they reside in Dale and you may still display our alliance without making it an official visit from our end, which it might be if Aldarion joined you."

Bard brought this topic up again late that evening in the baths. The building had been vacated for them, and so they were the only occupants. Scented steam rose around them as Bard sat between Thranduil's legs, leaning back against his chest, right hand resting on his propped up knee. Thranduil had his arms loosely slung around his chest and stomach, idly tracing random patterns with a thumb, lips resting against his damp hair. His own hair trailed in the water, floating around them when they moved, clinging wetly to both their skin.

"Do you think Bain will be fine?"

Thranduil kissed the top of Bard's head and searched in himself for a shred of knowledge that ran contrary to his instinct to reassure. When he was satisfied to not find any he answered, "I think so." Bain was young, strong and well trained. Rhovanion had its dangers, but large swaths of it were simply empty, which bore its own perils. "You know it is merely a matter of precautions. Aldarion has been travelling these lands for a long time."

"Aldarion also is a much more experienced fighter than Bain is," Bard argued, but it was without heat. He caught a strand of Thranduil's hair instead and started to wind it around his fingers, tugging gently. "I worry."

"Fathers will do that." He kept his voice level, there was nothing either of them could do about what the upcoming journey might hold. Sighing, Bard shifted closer, rubbing against Thranduil's groin which stirred arousal, but he pushed it aside for the moment. They had all night and it was worth making it last. 

When he felt the twitch against his lower back, Bard chuckled silently and shifted again. 

Thranduil pinched his nipple in retaliation and the chuckle turned into a small gasp and a squirm. To distract them both Thranduil kissed his hair once more and asked, "Have you made a decision about the Long Lake?"

Bard shook his head against his chest, let go of his hair and linked their fingers instead, resting their joined hands on his stomach. "Sigrid joked she would take care of it when the baby is born. I'm half of a mind to just let her, then she won't cook up something else. Dáin being here today is making me very suspicious." And Bard knew his children well enough to have his doubts about Dáin merely making a courtesy call, when he even asked to speak with Sigrid about something he wouldn't elaborate on. Thranduil smiled and noticed how he didn't want his opinion on that. He knew Thranduil, too. Instead he sighed again. "And it probably is time we did something about it. Do you remember Alfrid?"

"That wretched creature from years ago? You should never have pulled him from that troll." This man had apparently demanded recompense from Dale on behalf of Esgaroth. Bard had asked his opinion once, but then never spoken of it again so Thranduil had considered the matter taken care of. 

Bard hummed faintly in ill-tempered acknowledgement. "We trade with the lake so we get their news. Tilda says that apparently Alfrid is making some sort of advancement towards them again, from some hamlet down the river. Looks like he's threatening to do something if he doesn't get his due."

"And what would that be?" Thranduil frowned. "If he is downriver as you say, he has no handle on the water. The only ones who could control the river are the Dwarves or Dale."

"Or the people of the lake, if they would manage to block the runoff somehow," Bard added. His head lolled and Thranduil rested his chin on top of it. "I don't know. It must be hubris, I can't think of anything else. I still don't like it."

That, Thranduil could understand. Bard valued the peace they had eked out for now in the east, short as it would be. If there was one issue the three kings in the north could agree on it was their appreciation for the relative luxury of armistice they lived in for the moment. They were quiet for a while, idly petting, gentle touches on slick skin not aiming at anything. 

Eventually Thranduil bent and kissed his shoulder. "You know what that means?"

"I don't want to think of it." Getting Alfrid to leave for good — whether permanently in death or less so in exile — would have to mean another territory extension. Bard was reluctant about that, this soon after the first one and with everyone still finding their bearings. He was also not a man given to forcing people into anything. Exhaling heavily Bard twisted to look him in the eye. "Do you think Aldarion would be willing to investigate? Ride by, see if the people are being fooled?"

"You will have to ask him," Thranduil answered and then remembered a discussion of the past winter. "You could have Tilda do it. Surely Aldarion and Lucan would be willing to escort her." When Bard frowned at the suggestion he leaned in for a kiss that turned a little more involved than he had initially planned. "Unless you planned to send her with Bain."

"Certainly not," Bard grumbled, raising a hand from the water to leave wet traces on Thranduil's face before leaning in to kiss him again. When he rested back against him once more it was with less of the lazy comfort from before and with more of an air of finality. They were back to concrete plans instead of talking in the abstract. "To have two of my children gone…"

"It is likely she would be back before Bain rides." This would likely not be before the early summer, as Bain had decided to wait until he had seen his new niece or nephew. "It will get warmer as he rides south and either way he will be in Gondor long before fall sets in, with swift horses to set a good pace."

He drew Bard closer and let them sink further into the water, submerging their shoulders. The warmth of the water enveloped them and Thranduil felt Bard's shoulders relax. "Why do I have to have such adventurous children? One married an Elf, the other two want to take the world by storm."

"You raised them right," he answered and kissed the thin skin behind his ear, let his lips linger. "It should make you proud."

"It does," Bard assured him without hesitation but full of conviction. "Couldn't they do it where you or I could keep an eye on them though?"

Laughing into his ear, Thranduil tightened his embrace. They spoke some more of matters less consequential, planting and the small changes that had been wrought in Dale over the winter. They retired soon after, the sheets and blankets on the bed smelling crisp and freshly aired as if they had been expected. 

"Your people are growing very efficient," Thranduil told Bard between kisses, dragging his nails up his thigh, leaving goosebumps. Bard's legs fell apart with a slight shudder.

"My people appreciate the attentions of the Elvenking and try to keep in your good graces," he answered and hauled Thranduil in by a hand in the nape of his neck.

~*~

Thranduil stayed in Dale longer than the one day and night he had initially planned. By the time he rode towards his own realm he knew Tauriel and another guard would accompany Bain to Gondor in the summer. Meanwhile Aldarion and Lucan would once more run reconnaissance, though this time on behalf of Dale and as companions and guards for Tilda. Bard was as at ease with that situation as he would ever be.

"Will Bard want to castrate us as well if we lose her?" Aldarion asked in farewell with a sideways glance at the man in question.

"That seems plausible," Thranduil answered and frowned at his son.

Lucan, who stood slightly off to Aldarion's left, sighed rolled his eyes. "We are not going to lose your sister. I can track anything, and why should she run off?"

At this Aldarion blinked at his companion, though Thranduil could not suppress a smirk. Lucan was not usually this casually vocal in his presence, but apparently they had passed a threshold. "I have no doubts you will take the utmost care," Thranduil told them both and when Aldarion glanced at him he knew his son had understood it for the command it had been. 

He wished them both safe travels and took the reins of his mount from Galion. Bard stepped to his side and brushed a hand down his arm. They had said their goodbyes already, but it was their habit to each be the last to see the other off. 

"Send a bird with news," Thranduil told him, speaking both of Sigrid's pregnancy as well as of Tilda's travels with Aldarion. 

"I will," Bard assured him and took his hand to press a kiss to his fingers. Thranduil returned the grip and smiled before letting go to mount his ride. "I will see you in summer?"

"Sooner than that, I would hope," Thranduil answered with intentional arrogance, but then shot a last smile at the group he would leave behind. 

He arrived back at his own halls that afternoon and Legolas was still absent. Depending on whether he would take the twins only to the Forest Gate or the mountain pass, he should return within the next few days. After weeks of so many people in Thranduil's halls, the hill felt more empty than it had in months, even if now the busy season would start once more. His people would go out planting soon after preparing seedlings in the late winter. Spring council sessions were about to start within the next days as well, and this time Thranduil had little hope of escaping them as quickly as this past winter.

Legolas did not return within days. By the time he had been gone for a week, Thranduil began to wonder whether he had accompanied the twins to Imladris, but the bird he sent went unanswered. Aldarion had told him that Elrond's sons were seasoned travellers in their own right, often accompanying the Rangers on their journeys, and Legolas, too, knew how to hold his own. Yet for some reason Thranduil remained restless about the whereabouts of those three. 

He went to the overlook of the solar and called one of the golden eagles to him that had been hunting between the Misty Mountains and the Lonely Mountain ever since the world had been reshaped. The bird that perched on his arm, digging its sharp claws into the leather gauntlet he wore, was magnificent indeed, the glossy feathers shining in the spring sunlight. 

No one, not even the Elvenking, could command a beast such as this, but Thranduil also knew he needed its service, for no mortal eyes were sharper than those of a bird of prey. "I am looking for three Elves on horses, two dark and one golden haired. They might be anywhere this side of the Misty Mountains."

The eagle tilted its head in consideration before taking off from his arm, beating its wings to catch the air without acknowledgement. Exhaling heavily, Thranduil glanced after it and reluctantly returned to his own duties. The quiet discussions and consultations of maps during the last few weeks of winter made sense now.

Two days later he presided over a council meeting when Galion slipped into the chamber. "My Lord," his aide pronounced, "an eagle is here, refusing to speak to anyone but you."

Getting up, Thranduil nodded half an apology at his councillors and followed Galion out. 

The eagle once more was in the solar, ripping a hare apart with claws and beak and swallowing large chunks. "Three Elves," it said, the voice pitched high as was typical for birds, but louder than the songbirds or even the goshawks. Thranduil did not often ask the eagles for help; they were kin too close to Gwaihir and not inclined towards the Wood-elves. "Travelling south and west through Greenwood. They have long passed the road that was made by the Casari long ago. That is an unwholesome area to travel in for any creature, but especially for Elves."

South and west, towards Dol-Guldur, past the old Dwarf road. Thranduil should have known, and he closed his eyes against the sudden revelation. Opening them once more, he saw the eagle tilt its head at him, keeping him in its sights with one eye. With effort he suppressed the anger and fear for his child rising within him. "Thank you for your assistance."

"These are the sons of the Lord Elrond of Imladris, are they not?"

"Yes, they are. And my youngest son."

The eagle considered him, unblinking for long heartbeats, then lowered its head and tore another chunk off the hare and swallowed. Its beak was blood-smeared. "Then if the weather permits and I can catch drafts I will fly to Imladris tomorrow and inform him."

Thranduil took a breath and nodded. "If you consider it wise."

That was the last that was being said between them and he turned around. His voice echoed as usual when he summoned Galion and Feren. "At first light tomorrow we will ride for Dol Guldur. I want two companies equipped and ready, supplied but we will not take any additional train with us. No pack horses. Be ready."

He saw Feren and Galion exchange a glance, upon which Galion merely nodded and stepped aside. Only Feren remained, glancing up at Thranduil. "My Lord?"

"Do you require an explanation?"

Feren exhaled noisily, but stood his ground. "Do you plan on waging battle on that fortress? I cannot recommend it, my Lord. It appears we have found a balance in recent years and I would not endanger that if that was to be prevented."

Narrowing his eyes, Thranduil leaned back in his throne. "Are you questioning me?"

"No, my Lord." Still Feren hesitated. "But I would prevent war."

For long moments Thranduil studied him, satisfied when he continued to stand his ground. "So would I. Ready your companies."

Finally, Feren lowered his eyes. "Yes, my Lord."

Thranduil forwent sleep that night in favour of making his own preparations. He had never adopted the habit of many of his peers of letting his attendants take care of his gear. For many matters he let them — the preparation of travel on larger scales for example — but when it came to his sword and armour he always conducted the last inspection himself, checking for notches and kinks, missing links in chain and dents in the plates. His war gear had been forged by the smiths of Doriath, who had learned their craft from the Dwarves; it was still flawless. 

In the end, he sent one of the thrushes that were Dale's signature animal to Duinhir to inform him of his plans, a necessary precaution though hopefully superfluous. When Thranduil had become king the realm had been in disorder; the recent war and Thranduil's own limited experience coming together along with the effort to rebuild what had been lost. Duinhir was infinitely better prepared than he had ever been, yet this matter concerned his brother and he should know. Briefly Thranduil considered sending another message to Bard but discarded the notion; it was a worry he would spare him. With any luck he would catch up with Legolas and the twins before they reached Dol Guldur. However, he had left instructions with Galion to answer any messages with information of his absence.

He rode out not knowing what would come of the journey and thinking of Legolas, who had taken the same paths days ago with Elrond's sons. At least his child was not the only fool in this endeavour, though he was not convinced that fact was a redeeming one. 

The light was grey; a light drizzle put a sheen of water on their cloaks. It was no flying weather so the eagle would not make its way across the mountains, where no warm air current would carry it across the peaks. That thought occupied his mind when Feren rode up next to him.

"Shall I send scouts?" he asked calmly, reining in his horse next to Thranduil. The white guard horses had been left on their pastures and the two companies rode on roan and bay coated animals. With so many of them they could not hope to remain stealthy, but if it came to the extreme maybe they would provide less prominent targets. 

Glancing at the trees around them, Thranduil saw the first green of leaves. They were still within the borders of his realm but would likely cross it before the day was done. Not all paths were suited to the hooves of horses, but for now they could keep to the roads. "Yes, but no more than a hundred paces ahead, they want to keep within sight. Send trackers ahead of them."

Even Thranduil could make out where large horses had passed over a week ago, and these were the highly frequented parts of the forest. He didn't want to take any chances though, they should follow swiftly. By the time the beaten paths would stop the going would get harder, though Thranduil remembered shortcuts that Legolas would not be aware of and that were on none of the maps. Even if they had overgrown, they were paths that should be cleared easily.

Feren remained by his side instead of giving out his orders. "Legolas has gotten into trouble once more?"

"What is being said?" Thranduil asked back and watched his captain from the corner of his eye. But Feren merely shrugged. "Teaching a lesson by loss of life and limb is not efficient."

Turning to survey his soldiers, Feren looked as if he would remain mute, but then he did speak up after all, "A lesson that is not learned the first time should not be repeated too often if it is at the expense of others."

Thranduil glanced up sharply, but Feren had already wheeled his horse around and was shouting orders. Much like Tauriel, Feren had come up through the ranks and he had been in Thranduil's service long enough to have seen Aldarion and Legolas grow up from the day they had been born. Therefore, Thranduil knew the thinly veiled criticism to not be insubordination but concern for those he was responsible for, no matter whether his king liked it or not. 

They crossed the river in the afternoon and left their territory soon after. Thranduil could feel a shift in his soldiers as the light faded from the already grey day. Since they didn't bring mortals with them, they did not need to rest during the night, though they let the horses crop at the sparse vegetation for a while and halted for a few hours to let them rest. The air surrounding them was oppressing and Thranduil could feel the life fade in the land around them. It was not truly dead, but the shadow that still lay on the land, even if Dol Guldur should truly be silent, leached the very colour out of the earth and plants and even the sky. 

Nothing lived in the woods, at least nothing wholesome. The horses would feed on what was available and it was merely the influence of their Elvish riders that made it palatable for them. They stirred at every crack of twig and several times they encountered spiders or saw them from afar. But those were either dispatched quickly or were smart enough to avoid two contingents of Elvish warriors. 

They skirted the mountains west of them after two days, the paths still visible. The ground was soft with spring, wet with recent thaw and rain. When the sun went down, their breaths and those of their horses still fogged and even the Elves huddled into their cloaks. 

Beyond the old Dwarf road that intersected the forest, Feren rode up to him once more. They conversed daily, but usually this was for reports. Now his captain looked grim. "Is it me or does it get harder to breathe?"

"No," Thranduil told him. "You are affected by the shadow, we all are. It might get worse from here. Do not let anyone stray, keep the scouts closer."

Feren nodded. "I suppose it is a good test."

Glancing at him, Thranduil wondered how much he was aware of. It was hardly a secret among his people that they were existing on the brink to new calamity. They lived too close to the dangers of the forest, had seen more Orcs and giant spiders than other peoples in Middle-earth. The presence of the Necromancer — of Sauron — had been hard to miss and it was part of the reason why everyone in his realm knew how to handle weapons. 

"Be on your guard," Thranduil merely advised.

Days passed. Often it was not clear whether it was day or night and the branches were so strongly interwoven in the canopy above them that more than once several of his soldiers climbed up to gauge the time. The rain had stopped and at least they were less miserable in their less sodden clothes, but where usually talk would be merry during travels, the mood was subdued. They only halted to rest the horses. 

As they slowly drew closer to Amon Lanc — slowly for the undergrowth was thick, thorns snagged at the horses' legs while the animals sought paths that had long been lost — the days grew even darker. When they lost the trail the first time, Thranduil made them backtrack. When it happened again he had time to think about it, and he was more sure than before that Legolas was on his way to Dol Guldur. Instead of backtracking he searched for roads long abandoned. Sometimes they came upon flagstones not pressed up by roots or torn out by some creature.

Eventually they intersected the path again that the three travellers had taken and Feren shot him a glance. Frowning, Thranduil wished all of this was unnecessary, but then he'd thought Legolas' temporary exile had impressed on him the necessity of a command structure. Apparently Thranduil had been mistaken and it had only served to harden his son's resolve.

The attack came from behind, but it was a desperate effort. Ten Orcs had no chance against two contingents of armoured Elves and within moments they lay dead on the ground. However, also one of the soldiers had been struck with an arrow where the armour gaped on the side and he was winding in pain on the forest floor, blood seeping through his clenched hands and breathing heavily. 

"Move," Thranduil commanded as he dismounted. Most of his people had some sort of healing abilities, but the shadow affected all of them and impounded their strength. 

Máldir, the soldier who'd been struck, lay still writhing around the arrow that had struck at an angle where the armour gaped below the armpit and stared up with large eyes, breath coming quickly. Too quickly. Thranduil's gloved hands slapped his away and held them, assisted finally by Feren, who took them so Máldir would not stop Thranduil from inspecting the wound. 

"Is it getting dark?" Máldir asked, eyes glazed over. A single bloody bubble had formed on his lips.

"Yes," Feren consoled him and caught Thranduil's eyes, lips pressed together. "Night is coming."

None of that was true. It was a compassionate lie. Máldir was fading. A lamp was kindled, though it did little to change Thranduil's assessment of the wound. At best it was serious. But he could also not leave one of his people here to die.

"Hold him down," he ordered. Then to Máldir, "This is going to hurt."

A second later he recognised the crisp smell of athelas in his nose and a hand appeared at the edge of his field of vision, right over the wound. Glancing up he identified Ithril at his side, who nodded at him. "I knew we might need it," she said.

Cúthalion's sister had shown evidence of prescience often in the past, and Thranduil was silently pleased to have her with them. Nodding at her, he knelt more securely next to the injured Elf and broke off the fletching of the arrow. It was a foul thing, black wood and blacker fletching and he was glad for the gloves that kept the jagged splinters from his hands.

Then he pushed the arrow further into the flesh. Máldir screamed and made to pull away, but the other Elves kept him still. The tip broke through the skin on his back and Thranduil fumbled for it until he could grab it and pull. When the remainder of the wood had vanished into the skin, Ithril pushed the crushed athelas into the wound. After this many days it would certainly be drying already, but with luck combined with Thranduil's powers it would be enough. When the arrow had left Máldir's flesh, Thranduil discarded it and pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth, pressed his hand to the entry wound. The skin was warm even through layers of clothes and leather, and Thranduil thought he could detect a whiff of putrefaction already. 

He pushed his powers into the ragged edges of the wound and after a brief struggle felt the poison give way. The athelas had stopped the flow of blood quickly and Thranduil poured as much as he dared into the mangled flesh. Máldir, if he survived, would need rest that he would never get this far south under the shadow, and Thranduil did not dare to spare an escort for him. And even if, there was no guarantee a small escort would be enough. After two groups had passed now, both Orcs and spiders would be on their guard and more aggressive. 

When Máldir had stopped screaming and lay still, though his skin was cold and sweaty to the touch, Thranduil stood and looked around. "Bind the wound and then tie him to the saddle."

The horses snorted, alarmed by the fighting and the smell of blood that surrounded them. They could not stay; one small band of Orcs could always mean more following and they did not want to be surrounded, no matter whether they could win through or not. Thranduil wanted to be back in his wholesome woods which might be threatened but which were alive with leaves and birdsong. 

They waited until Máldir had been secured to his mount and then they moved on. Both Feren and Ithril rode up on his sides. "We need to hurry," Ithril said and shot a glance around where the injured Elf was surrounded by a cordon of others. "We will be set upon shortly."

"Can't we send someone ahead?" Feren asked. "I found Legolas before."

"Not down here," Thranduil told him. "Anyone can get turned around and get lost here. We remain strongest in company."

Neither of them liked it, but after exchanging a glance they fell back again and left Thranduil to his own thoughts. He flexed his hand; his glove was back on but he could still feel the stain on his skin. 

More days passed. Finally, from a small elevation they could see the ruins of the fortress on Amon Lanc. Another day's ride and they would be there, more than ten days after their departure. Thranduil knew morale was not good, even though Máldir was recovering — albeit more slowly than he would have in his familiar surroundings. At the very least they were confident they would not lose him. 

They ascended steadily throughout the night and finally reached the summit of the hill and only a small strip of trees and the bridge separated them from the fortress. The bridgehead was still bare of vegetation for many hundred paces, the last defensive precaution still in place. Exhaling, Thranduil took one last look at the crumbling walls and turned his mount, the animal quivering ever so subtly. The horses too stamped their hooves nervously and snorted, clearly ill at ease. 

He called up Feren. "Position your soldiers," he told him. "Be ready to charge if necessary."

"My Lord." He sounded incredulous. "Surely you do not plan to enter by yourself!"

"For now," he relented. "I know this place."

Frowning Feren made to say something but then apparently thought better of it. "My Lord."

Thranduil swung out of the saddle and handed the reins to Ithril before surveying the two companies that had come with him so far south. Máldir could stay upright in the saddle, but he was in no position to fight. 

As he walked towards the edge of the almost dead trees, sword half drawn, Thranduil remembered the fortress as it had been. The walls had always been steep and forbidding; his father had wanted a defensible stronghold after the events at the mouths of Sirion. Now, with the walls fallen in and everything in a state of decay, it resembled nothing of the home he had known for such a long time. The atmosphere was downright hostile, laying itself over the memory of lush greenery and the brief peace they had known here.

He was about to cross the bridge when a ringing sound caught his ear. Behind him he heard weapons being drawn, but he raised a hand to stay his soldiers. It was indeed ringing and it came closer, the sound of bells, some small, some bigger. They rang in the steady rhythm of a horse's gait… 

Under lighter circumstances, he would have rolled his eyes. As it was, he shook his head and started crossing the bridge as waiting only exposed him to whatever might be hiding behind the crumbling walls. He entered his father's former fortress through the large gate, whose thick posts were still intact. Few things in the inner courtyard reminded him of his former home; the tree planted in the middle, now a dead and twisted thing, the stairs leading to the towers and to the former living quarters crumbled. Most of them now led into nothingness, the wings of the building long fallen into rubble, the stones carried away by who knew what. The towers that still stood loomed broken and roofless high above him. 

The courtyard was littered with dead Orcs, more than ten of them, the stink evidence that Legolas and the twins might have been here. Though where they were now he couldn't say. Thranduil also didn't want to call out for them in case something still lurked in the shadows that wouldn't lift its head in the light of day. The air sat heavy in his lungs as he breathed, and in the aftermath he couldn't have said what alarmed him, but he drew his sword and turned, disembowelling a spider in the process. 

On its other side he saw Glorfindel just pulling his weapon. For a single heartbeat they stared at each other, then Thranduil relaxed his stance marginally and said, "The tales of you as a fabled warrior are greatly exaggerated, I see."

"You can comment on that once you have slain a Balrog," Glorfindel countered. "Imagine my shock at you not having taken care of these critters yet."

"If they invade my territory, they die," he said. 

"Didn't this used to be your territory? Maybe you need someone to take this in hand. I know what I am talking about, because allow me to remind you again: Balrog." Glorfindel drew his sword fully now and glanced around for more dangers that weren't there. Sneering, he stepped over the spider's body and came to Thranduil's side.

"Allow me to remind you that you did not survive that encounter." By all accounts of the fall of Gondolin, the hair that had given Glorfindel his name had also been his doom. Even now his hair, like Thranduil's, was loose and hanging down his back. Unlike Thranduil he wore a circlet on his brow, though. Thranduil had refrained from insignia; their force was visible enough and he did not need to tell his enemies here they could potentially take out the Elvenking himself. 

Glorfindel joined him. "I am here now."

"Yes. A curious turn of events." He glanced around one more time for more creatures, then wiped his sword and turned. They stood surveying the courtyard, the dead Orcs, and Thranduil crossed towards the tree and knelt by it, reaching out a hand. But it was dead and would not revive even if the shadow lifted this instant. 

A moment later Glorfindel joined him, looking around surreptitiously. "It was an urgent message. I left everyone else at the Forest Gate and rode down the Anduin. I was right to, after all you have still not found them." He paused. "Though clearly they were here."

"They still are." Unless they had been killed or eaten, but even then something of them would have to be left. Something else Glorfindel had said registered with Thranduil at that moment. "Who is everyone?"

"Lord Elrond has decided the matter was drastic enough to take into his own hands and cared to call on you personally. We did not expect you here." Glorfindel stared up at the sheer walls, the teeth of the broken towers against the sky. 

Elrond. Indeed, Galion would not be pleased by this development and it almost amused Thranduil. Almost, because Elrond's actions could easily be considered an attempt at a hostile takeover. All of this was a pain that Thranduil really could do without. He sighed silently. 

"He is my son." He could not have sent anyone else. Duinhir would have needed to travel too far and leave his own people alone when they were under enough strain from attacks in the east already, Aldarion had not returned from his travels with Tilda, and Legolas had shown more than once that he would not listen to Feren or anyone else. It maybe was Thranduil's biggest mistake, though he would never admit it out loud, of having let Legolas remain outside the command structure of his army. He knew the consequences of disobedience, saw them exemplified in Tauriel, had lived them himself for a time in his self-imposed exile. Yet Tauriel had come through the ranks and was now fighting for her way back. Legolas… 

Thranduil pushed that thought away. First he needed to find him, and Elrond's sons, then he would deal with the consequences.

Getting up, he glanced around and found nothing. It was then time to investigate the still standing structures … and the recently fallen walls. Wordlessly he stepped forward, Glorfindel behind him to his right. Irrationally Thranduil wished Bard were there; at least he would be able to anticipate his actions, and he would know he had his back. He had never fought at Glorfindel's side — they had met the survivors of Gondolin only after the Balrog had dragged Glorfindel to his death — and he preferred he would not have to find out what it was like. His role at the events at Alqualondë was still unclear and Thranduil would as soon not have to deal with that.

"Did Sauron push this into decay?" Glorfindel asked as they inched inside one of the half-fallen buildings. No light seeped inside, although no shutters remained at the windows. This had been part of the inner structure, the family wing, especially protected and guarded. Much good it had done them in the end. 

Thranduil shook his head. "Time, for the most part. We abandoned this fortress during the Second Age, long before Ereinion conceived of that last stand."

They exited and even the polluted air outside was a relief. He felt Glorfindel's eyes on him, but he didn't react.

Eventually Glorfindel wanted to enter one of the guard towers. "We should be prepared not to find them."

Thranduil ignored him. "Enter at your own peril." When the other Elf raised both eyebrows in question he indicated the empty doorway. "The floor is designed to drop when two specific tiles are being stepped on "

Sharpened stakes used to be at the bottom, though those must have rotted away in well over three millennia. It was still a sharp drop and both of them could do without broken limbs here. With a gesture that might have been gallant in another place, Glorfindel indicated for him to precede. When he did so, he found himself with a sheer precipice where the first of the large flagstones ended. 

And he knew the voice that called up from below him, incredulous and shocked, yet also overjoyed, "Ada?"

Thranduil exchanged a glance with Glorfindel, wide-eyed and almost disbelieving. For a few heartbeats he allowed relief to wash over him. "Legolas?"

"Yes!" his son called back. "And Elladan and Elrohir are here also!"

Exhaling in relief, Thranduil crouched on the flagstones and carefully peered down into the murky light of the chute. As he had predicted, the sharpened stakes must have long rotted away and the remains fallen over, for indeed he spied their three missing Elves, seemingly unharmed. All three were peering up at him, but seemed none the worse for privations of food and water.

He felt Glorfindel bend down next to him and reached out a hand to stop him. It would not be the first time this particular Elf lord would harm himself in a fall, and Thranduil would not be held responsible. 

He heard one of the twins whisper, "We are in trouble," when they spied him. Well, at least they knew that much. 

From there it was easy to bring one of the companies into the courtyard to stand guard while Feren and Ithril retrieved rope they had brought. Knots had been placed to aid climbing and within minutes all three unfortunate travellers were back in the dubious light of day. Looking them over, Thranduil could not see much amiss; their clothes were dirty and they had a few blood-crusted streaks on their hands and faces, their clothes bore holes, but they seemed otherwise hale enough. 

They retreated away from the treacherous edge and into the courtyard. Feren and Ithril rolled up their ropes again, exchanging silent glances and Thranduil saw his captain roll his eyes. He sympathised. 

Glorfindel caught his eye in turn and then glanced towards the objects of their journeys. When it came right down to it, Thranduil had never regretted being king, but he also had never relished meting out punishment. He turned towards the three Elves they had come to find.

"Are you completely out of your mind?" he bellowed and saw Legolas' eyes widen in shocked surprise. "What did you even think you might accomplish with such folly? Look around you! Everyone here now had to risk their lives for your selfishness. Do you think that just?"

When Elladan made to speak, Glorfindel looked at him sharply. "Consider whether it is wise before you say anything. Your father is in Thranduil's halls and he wishes to have a word with you."

Neither of the twins seemed to have expected that and Elrohir's hands balled into fists as he looked away. 

Without a further word Thranduil turned around and crossed the bridge to the waiting company and their mounts. He heard his soldiers fall into step with him, presumably herding the three wayward children along. In the dead wood across from the fortress the second company stood silently, each holding the reins of two horses. Máldir used his mount as support, since he was still not fully healed. 

Bells rang behind them, Glorfindel leading his horse after them. Eventually Feren came up to Thranduil. "My Lord, what are we to do about horses? We did not bring extra."

The mounts Legolas and the twins had brought must have long fled in terror without their riders' influence to keep them calm. 

Frowning, Thranduil considered for a moment, then glanced at Glorfindel for objections. When a shrug indicated he did not care either way, Thranduil shook his head at Feren. "Let them walk. We will consider it suitable punishment for now, and Lord Elrond can do with his sons what he is wont to. Let us leave this place now."

Clearly doubting that pronouncement but following his orders, Feren relayed them to his soldiers and then swung himself into the saddle. Meanwhile Glorfindel joined Thranduil at the van. The three Elves on foot were cordoned right behind them where it would be most secure if they were attacked. 

"What a harsh regimen you proport," Glorfindel said, not without amusement in his voice.

"I know Imladris is miniscule, but you should know better. I have trouble imagining Turgon handled these matters differently," Thranduil said. "There are a lot of people in my realm worthy of protection, and this means discipline. You should know about that, after all how large was Gondolin at its peak?"

"This is hardly comparable," Glorfindel countered with a frown.

"You executed people by throwing them over the walls, if you don't call that discipline..." Thranduil said, receiving a sneer in answer. It did not escape his notice that the three Elves behind them remained conspicuously silent as to not attract any unwanted attention. 

"How do you even _know_ about that?" 

For a moment he wondered whether to consider it an insult. Not only had the accounts of the loremasters been widely spread across the still extant Elvish realms by the end of the Second Age, but Thranduil had known Tuor well and heard this from his own mouth. 

The return trip lasted a few days longer than the initial travel had taken either group, which was largely accounted for by part of their force marching on foot. Yet with every day they rode north the air grew a little lighter and the light filtered ever so much more down to the ground. The soldiers also seemed in higher spirits; talk ensued that had been absent on the trip to south and Thranduil was glad of it. Though he kept trading snide remarks with Glorfindel, he also learned of some events that had taken place after his dissociation from Elrond. Not the least Glorfindel told him the details of what had happened to Elladan and Elrohir's mother; while Thranduil had heard she had decided to sail he had never been — had never wanted to be — privy to the details. It put the reason why they would want Dol Guldur, presumably a cesspit of Orcs, purged into perspective, yet Glorfindel also freely admitted that the culmination of this situation had not been the right way to achieve that. 

Because in the end they had achieved nothing. A few dead Orcs, a few spiders less to weave their webs in the forest, but none of that had made any impact on the shadow that lay over the forest or aided them in any way in the war to come. On the contrary, it had left Thranduil's stronghold vulnerable in his absence, put Elves in danger, and provoked a diplomatic incident between Imladris and the Woodland Realm. 

Thranduil was still angry with his son and his friends by the time they arrived back in his realm, though he grew momentarily distracted when he recognised Bard standing outside the large gates, speaking with the Elves on duty. Bard was well-liked among his people, he often spoke with the guards, but that was not the point. Bard was supposed to be in Dale. 

Still Thranduil felt momentarily comforted to see him, out of place or not. When they were close enough for Bard to hear the sound of their animals' hooves, he nodded once more at the guard and then turned to face them, arms crossed over his chest. It was the most disapproving expression Thranduil had ever seen on him, barring perhaps only the look Cúthalion had received when Sigrid had told them she was pregnant with Eryn. He also favoured the knee he kept twisting, though he didn't seem to be acutely bothered by it and Thranduil guessed that should not be the first thing to bring up.

"The King of Dale?" Glorfindel asked. "It looks like you might be in trouble."

Off to his right, Feren snorted softly.

Thranduil did not dignify either of them with a reply, but when Bard raised his chin and scowled he indeed wondered what might have come to pass in his absence. 

Behind them his people were talking in hushes and whispers; snickers were exchanged. Everyone was glad to be home — even Máldir was recovered and joking with the rest — though Feren tried to quell the gossip somewhat until they were safely out of earshot of the two Elf lords with them, but with little success. None of them had missed the mien of the man they knew as their king's consort, though at least Glorfindel seemed to ignore what was being said around him, in the manner of courts everywhere. Contrary to what his people probably thought, Thranduil selectively paid attention, but now his thoughts were otherwise occupied.

He dismounted and handed the reins to Feren, who shot him a glance and nodded at Bard before leading both their mounts away, alongside Legolas and the twins.

"What are you doing here?" Thranduil asked quietly even as Glorfindel led his own horse by them.

Bard shot him a glance from the corner of his eye and sketched a vastly incomplete bow. "King Thranduil," he said first, then added, "Lord Glorfindel."

"King Bard," Glorfindel greeted back, head inclined just enough to keep an air of politeness. Then he walked past and it was only the soldiers who now filed past and shot them not-so-covert glances. 

Finally, Bard turned to him, huffing in annoyance. They entered the hill through the gates and the guards stepped back into place. "Me? Apparently Galion and your bloody council felt he was not responsible for hosting a foreign Elf lord if the realm's consort was available."

"I did not know Elrond was coming," Thranduil told him. Bard evaded the hand Thranduil wanted to place on his back and seemed not inclined to be touched otherwise, so Thranduil resigned himself to his presence only. "Accompany me?"

Bard shot him a disbelieving look. "That is not— Legolas is all right? Elladan and Elrohir?"

"Neither of them has been harmed. I will not guarantee that state for the near future." He knew it sounded grim, but even after weeks of traveling back he was still angry with his son for bringing himself into danger and forcing equally foolhardy actions on so many of them. 

Thranduil turned towards the living quarters. He would have to speak to Elrond as soon as possible, from one ruler to another, but he would not do it right after a month on the road. They fell silent then and he let Bard precede him into the bedchamber. His attendants knew how to do their duties and several sets of robes fit for audiences had been laid out for him to choose from already, as well as a basin filled with water. In truth Thranduil wanted a bath, but there would be no time for that, so he would have to settle for washing and fresh clothes.

However, he had not expected Bard to turn on him with eyes blazing. While he had been fuming silently during their little walk, Thranduil had attributed that to his unplanned absence from Dale, especially with Sigrid giving birth soon. Instead Bard yelled, "What were you even thinking?"

"Excuse me?"

"No, not before I get some bloody answers. What did you think, to just take off for _Dol Guldur_? You forbade Legolas to go on account of it being too dangerous and then you go after him and you don't even think it necessary to _tell_ me?" He had gotten steadily louder and was now all but screaming. Then he balled his hands into fists and took a step back.

Thranduil raised both eyebrows and stopped in the middle of undoing his tunic. "I was retrieving my son from a foolhardy endeavour, I fail to see how that would be relevant to you."

Stopping mid-pace, Bard shook his head. "How it would be relevant to me? How could it not be? I have been here for half a month, Thranduil, with no clue what or what not happened to all of you, listening to Elrond speaking of doom, that Men should have no place in this world, and that Glorfindel can take care of himself!"

"Galion was never supposed to call you," Thranduil argued. "I never thought Elrond might come this way, he has never guested in my realm before." At least not while it was Thranduil's. "You had enough on your mind to also concern yourself with this."

"Of course I worry!" Bard yelled and stepped towards him, then drew himself up. "What difference does it make if Galion was not supposed to tell me, how does that change any of the facts? What if something had happened in Dale and I had sent you a message?"

Thranduil took a breath and made himself finish unlacing his tunic before stepping to the basin and starting to wash. "Galion would have told you I was absent."

"And you don't think that would have made me wonder what had happened that made you leave suddenly? That that would not cause me to worry even more not knowing you were walking into danger with open eyes?"

"You were never supposed to know," Thranduil reiterated. The water was cold, but after the past few weeks it was like a balm on his skin. "You have enough to worry about, I have trouble seeing how me adding to that would benefit you."

Between Sigrid's pregnancy, Tilda's sojourn with Aldarion and Bain's upcoming travels, that was plenty for Bard to be concerned about on top of the daily governing, and Thranduil knew he was. Adding more stress to that for something that turned out, in the aftermath, to carry the mere shadow of peril, was too much. Over the ages, Thranduil had survived enough situations where the odds for him to be killed had been overwhelming. Dol Guldur unoccupied was a place of malice that had little chance of truly harming an Elf of his age and experience. But of course, much like every other being he was not immune to accidents and circumstance. Still, the chance had been small. 

A moment of silence passed between them, then Bard walked up to him, pushed a hand against his shoulder hard to make him look at him. It was a downright painful, bruising grip and when Thranduil looked at his face, Bard's eyes were a complicated mixture of anger and concern that he had trouble disentangling fully even with all their shared history. 

"Who and what I worry about is entirely my business, I would thank you for that to stay that way. You have no more right to take that decision away from me than I would have with you!" He shook his head. "You are not some burden I have to bear!"

"I never indicated that," Thranduil said, trying to catch Bard's eyes again but failing. Water was dripping down his fingertips and dried uncomfortably on his chest, but he did not move. He wasn't entirely sure why Bard was this worked up, for if he had never known about it then he would also have had nothing to worry about. His presence here the past weeks was a matter of extraordinary circumstances and had not factored into any of the decisions prior to setting out.

For a long, dragging moment Bard seemed at a loss for words, then he pushed harder against Thranduil and made him step backwards. One, two, three steps and his back hit the wall, the stone cool and smooth against his skin. "It sounds a lot as if that was exactly what you thought, though. But you don't understand, do you? I realise neither of us can live his life entirely free of danger, not in the time we live and with the positions we are in, but I at least want to _know_ when you might be risking yourself! I am your bloody consort — and you are mine in case you have forgotten — I have a _right_ to know that!"

The words struck a chord in Thranduil that was hard to ignore, but he did not want to elaborate on the details with Bard now, so he gentled his voice and said, "You do realise that knowing or not would not change a single fact if something truly were to happen?"

"Thranduil, that is not the point," Bard told him and Thranduil could hear his heart racing, feel the tension in his muscles as he reached out and wrapped a hand around Bard's forearm. 

Nodding to show he had heard the words, Thranduil increased the pressure of his own grip and felt the one on his shoulder loosen. He stepped away and picked up the set of golden robes with the deeply orange lining and started slipping into them. "I need to speak with Elrond." He searched Bard's eyes, still stormy with anger and a shadow of that past worry — just what he had wanted to prevent. "I will come find you later, but right now—"

"—your duties take precedent?" Bard raised the corner of his mouth in a humourless smirk. His calm demeanour was a front, no more, but they both knew the realities of their positions. "The obligation of a king; I hear it comes with prerogatives."

Thranduil huffed and shrugged in acknowledgement, then closed the last of the clasps on his long robe. It trailed behind him as he stepped towards Bard and dropped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. For a moment Bard pressed his lips together and reached to brush his fingers over his, but then he nodded before Thranduil picked up his crown and went his way.

At the end of the hall one of the guards shot him a glance that he ignored, then he made his way to the throne hall. Galion and Feren knew their duties and indeed Elrond waited for him, hands clasped behind his back. 

"Lord Elrond," Thranduil greeted him, walking towards the throne. He made the habitual gesture of greeting and smiled openly. "It may be late, but welcome to my realm. What a pleasant surprise."

Elrond greeted him back. "King Thranduil, I consider it a pleasure of my own. It has been a long time."

"Too long, perhaps," Thranduil agreed. "I take it you have found that your sons are well?"

"Glorfindel assured me I would see them. As far as I gathered he took them and Legolas to the baths. By their looks that was a necessary measure, they were quite dusty." Elrond looked around the hall, perhaps recognising something as familiar he had never seen before. Caves of this sort had not existed since Menegroth, and he had not been in the Woodland Realm since before Thranduil had settled here. Meanwhile Thranduil wondered if he should be worried that Glorfindel was essentially chaperoning Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir to make sure they did not get into further trouble.

"We did not bring spare mounts, so we let them walk." Thranduil smiled with not little vindication. "It seemed like suitable punishment."

Elrond shook his head and sighed. "I wish I knew what drove them to such rash actions." Then he gave Thranduil a smile of his own, though it was tinged with resignation. "Of course, I can take a guess. However, it is … unexpected. I was exceptionally kind and surprising of you to retrieve them personally."

"I assume it is related to the ambush they walked into this past winter," Thranduil told him, ignoring the criticism, and gave an abbreviated account of what the twins and Aldarion had told him. Doubtlessly Elrond had seen some of his halls already in the past weeks, but Thranduil invited him to walk nevertheless. They were of too similar station for him to sit on his throne, and Elrond was not a petitioner. "Perhaps they took the opportunity when it presented itself as Legolas told them about Dol Guldur and who it used to house."

"He is gone?" It was almost conversational but, but still too interested to be just that. Sauron was a menace that would push all of them to the brink of death before it was all over.

"He is," Thranduil confirmed, though he did not say that he suspected it was not the last time they had to deal with danger originating from there. This was for him and Lórien to deal with, Elrond had no stakes in this.

At this Elrond nodded. He seemed relieved. "And Legolas? How did he involve himself?"

"I suppose this was a matter of … mutual encouragement." He would speak with Legolas later, when they both had had a chance to rest. 

Elrond glanced at him but kept his silence. It had been a long time since they had last met, and they had not as much in common as they used to. And if they did, they would not speak of it now. 

After a long circuit they arrived back in front of the throne and Elrond said, in a tone that was almost neutral, "I was … surprised to find a consort here. I also hear you have taken a special interest in his family as well."

The thinly veiled criticism was not lost on Thranduil, however. That was rather ridiculous, considering how many mortals were in Elrond's genealogy alone. And Thranduil would not remind the esteemed Lord Elrond of his foster charges, that did not have merit beyond aggravating each other. Instead Thranduil said, "Bard has his own duties, by rights you should have been forwarded to Dale."

"That is quite a distance."

Thranduil shook his head. "Barely a half day's ride, it shrinks to hours in a hurry. Far shorter than the way from Imladris to Lórien." He knew that was not entirely kind after what Glorfindel had told him about Celebrían, yet a point that bore validity. "Your sons told me your daughter currently resides there."

"Yes," Elrond answered, his tone more than a little regretful. "She does." He paused for a while and then raised his eyes to study him. "You will come to much grief attaching yourself so thoroughly to this family. And to him."

Hardening his expression Thranduil stared at him in reply. They might have been friends once, and possibly in time of less peril and strife they would work out their differences. But this was overstepping boundaries, and by the stubborn expression on Elrond's features they both knew it. 

Letting out a breath he collected himself. When the Valar had granted clemency to Elwing and Eärendil, they had set a choice about their mortality before them and their children, as well as before Elrond's children. As far as Thranduil was aware, that choice had not been made for them so far … yet with the certainty he knew for truth he realised that it was not far off, and that Elrond would likely not approve of the outcome. 

He inhaled and intentionally calmed his voice, "Do not speak to me of my grief when your own is waiting for you. I will not grief what is still in front of me, a counsel you might yet want to follow."

In return Elrond said nothing, merely looked away. Eventually Thranduil nodded at him and went his own way again. Their exchange was a matter of courtesy, from one ruler to another. It was enough if they were seen in conversation and the only thing everyone expected was that they did not start a war. Their realms were too far apart to be required to sustain a regular exchange. This was not the distance to Dale or Erebor that put them in the situation of having to get along or war each other to extinction. Thranduil would be hospitable to Elrond and his retinue for as long as they were wont to stay, but they did not need to develop relations of any kind beyond those of kinship that bound them already.

After this past month in the wild, Thranduil was looking forward most to a bath and another change of clothes, but first he had other matters to take care of. Following a hunch, he found Bard in the solar, looking out over the trees. Thranduil had made no sound, so it had to be instinct that made Bard turn around and raise an eyebrow in question. Despite what he had just now told Elrond, of course Thranduil knew this time they had was limited, but he usually did not dwell on that fact overlong, simply because it had little merit. Yet he was aware that his next actions belied a little of that, for he stepped up to Bard and pulled him into an embrace. Bard warm in his arms was an assurance of what was still within reach and would not evaporate in the next instant. 

Bard, predictably, put up a token struggle and pushed against his chest. "I'm still angry," he repeated a sentence from earlier, mumbled against his clothes.

"Oh, I am well aware of that." Thranduil nodded, then sighed. "Just let me have this, will you?"

Something in his voice must have conveyed that this was not about diminishing their argument, for Bard shook his head against his chest minutely, but stopped struggling. After a few moments' hesitation he slipped his own arms around Thranduil reluctantly. "Is this about Elrond?" For a few heartbeats Thranduil wondered whether Bard had become prophetic, before he continued, "Because he has been saying truly … odd things. There was no discussion to be had with him. I was sometimes wondering whether to be upset or confused. Apparently we're all doomed. Men are weak. And what does he mean, the Age of Elves is ending?"

Exhaling in exasperation, Thranduil rested his cheek against Bard's hair. He ignored the first question; they did not need another talk about their relative mortality. In a roundabout way they had discussed it years ago, and they both knew where they stood. No need to reiterate that. Instead he rested his hand between the wings of Bard's shoulder blades and said, "Elrond has been fond of predicting doom for a while. After the Last Alliance… Our losses were extreme, many of our commanders died. Whole contingents perished. The world around us changed and now there are not many Elvish realms left in Middle-earth, though there are still those that have been wandering since the world was young." He felt Bard's embrace tighten fractionally and smiled gratefully in turn. "Time is moving a lot faster than it used to, favouring a short-lived kindred more than us. It is not a new speculation, yet it is not a turn of events I see for my own people quite yet."

Every year some decided to sail, but it had always been thus. Some died every few years, as Wood-elves sought confrontation more where Noldor and Sindar might not, but that, too, was nothing unusual. No, life was still plenty for them and they lived in this forest, protected and sheltered by it. Thranduil saw no reason to send his people away when they were content in their ancestral home, especially when he himself had only the tales of Melian and Elu Thingol to go by when it came to Valinor.

They had fallen quiet for a while and Thranduil had raised his hand, now stroked his thumb over the pulse point in Bard's neck, felt the regular thud beneath the skin. Eventually though, Bard pushed him away with gentle but vehement force to be able to look him in the eye. "All the more reason to tell me when something potentially dangerous is happening."

Thranduil refrained from rolling his eyes. Just. Mostly because he knew Bard had legitimately worried. "This did not concern you."

Bard did not refrain from rolling his eyes and made a fist, bunching up some material of Thranduil's robe. He pursed his lips and hardened his gaze. "You were involved so it concerns me, have you still not understood that?"

"I will take it into consideration," Thranduil allowed and returned an earnest gaze of his own. He had let his hands fall away, now rested them on Bard's shoulders. 

"No, Thranduil—" He made to step away and averted his eyes, but Thranduil tightened his hold and shook him gently to make him look back up.

It was moments like these when their mutual stubbornness got in the way. But after several heartbeats Bard looked at him again and Thranduil drew a slow breath. "I will not apologise for something that I considered to be best. Nothing happened short of an admittedly humiliating experience for Legolas and Elladan and Elrohir." He said nothing of Máldir's injury as that was indeed not the point. Accidents happened, and it had been nothing more than thus. "This was never meant to be your concern, and I regret that it became that. If it truly bothers you this much I will reconsider my stance the next time."

Bard let out a sigh that felt long pent up, then leaned back in and rested his head against Thranduil's chest, slipping his arms loosely around him. "I know you can handle yourself, and much better than me, too. But it's my privilege to worry about you and I won't have you take that away."

A heartbeat, two. Then Thranduil framed Bard's face in his hands and kissed his forehead. "Very well."

Bard seemed to understand that this was as much concession as he was going to receive, because in answer he slipped his own hands around Thranduil's wrists and made him let go with gentle force. Then leaned in to kiss, this with more than just gentle force. Thranduil took half a step back in surprise, but then let Bard pull him in by his robes again. His court robes did not lend themselves to escapades of this sort and Bard growled a little at the intricate clasps. Thranduil reached to still his fingers. 

"I would prefer you out of these," Bard argued with a frown.

Humming, Thranduil raised their joined hands and kissed his fingers. "Much as I am loathe to stop you." He stroked a thumb idly over the back of his hand, then his lips were caught in another kiss that he broke much to Bard's apparent frustration. "Much as I am loathe to stop you, I do need a bath. And we need to sup with Elrond and his retinue, lest it present a breach of hospitality. What do you think, have Glorfindel and his charges vacated my private facilities by now and has the water been replaced?"

Groaning, Bard hung his head, followed by a pained laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Standing up a foreign guest for a tumble is considered rude. And out in the wild for a month, I have doubts you would want me in your bed," Thranduil told him resolutely and slipped a finger under his chin to make Bard raise his head. He dropped a kiss on his lips that was meant to be brief, but then grew more heated when Bard fisted both hands into his lapels and kept him in place. A blatant and very unfair attempt at convincing him to change his mind. 

"I could be persuaded otherwise," Bard murmured against his lips, one hand tangling in his hair.

With a chuckle Thranduil let himself be kissed, then pushed backwards again, ultimately he stood his ground. "Well, I cannot," he said, then sighed. "I also need to talk to Legolas."

Regretfully Bard let him go. "Don't you think you have punished him enough?" 

"I have little interest in punishing him," Thranduil told him with a frown that turned into a smile when he caught Bard's eyebrows raised in appreciation. "You are not the only one to have raised stubborn children."

Bard's expression morphed into a grin. "That is perfidious."

"Marginally," Thranduil allowed. "Will you come with me?"

But Bard shook his head, shot him a little sardonic smile. "I have some actual work left to do, I'm not sure you remember that I have a kingdom to run, too."

"Truly? It must have slipped my mind." The he turned serious again. "Will you stay a little longer?"

"Until Elrond has left for his own pastures once more?" He closed the distance between them again and pulled Thranduil down with a hand fisted into his robes, kissed him again. "Yes. But then I need to get back, Sigrid and Bain can't keep running my kingdom."

While Thranduil had no doubts as to their capability, he agreed that it was a considerable strain on them when Bard was the actual king. Winter was a time of rest in all societies, and Bard could be absent with little consequence, but unless provisions were made the same was not true for the rest of the year. Dale was not as established as the Woodland Realm, where Thranduil might be absent for extended periods.

When he eventually made his way to the baths, he was well aware of the gazes of all his guards following him, but he chose to ignore it. As he luxuriated in the hot water shortly after, he considered again the matter of punishment. But Legolas was unlikely to respond well to it, and the line between son and subject would only be muddled further in that case. Ripples chased each other across the water whenever he moved, the pool was big enough to even swim a few strokes, though for now he only lay back against one of the walls. 

He was aware that Elrond had brought his back up and he didn't like it. Reaction was something his father had always counselled him against — though action had been his eventual demise and the irony of that was not lost on Thranduil — but he was struggling to follow that advice now. Maybe Elrond had simply known him too long, nominally as subject in the Havens when Elrond has been but a little boy, and as refugee and later as prince. As fellow leaders they did not cooperate well, especially since they had taken their realms into such different directions. Maybe in that regard he should not be surprised that Elrond predicted the fading of the Eldar, trying to convince all and sundry of that fact. When he left here, that would go away for a time, even if eventually — when Sauron made his move — they would have to face that possibility. 

Then he sluiced those thoughts away along with the suds of soap on his skin and put on his black court robes, laid out by his attendants. Hair still slightly damp, he went for the evening meal that would be taken together with Elrond and his sons as well as Legolas and Glorfindel. Much to his dismay Bard had not joined them by the time they sat, and his place on Thranduil's left was taken by Elrond. 

He was mildly vindicated when the attendant serving the soup shot Elrond a glance that could have felled a lesser being. 

Bard eventually entered in a flurry of red and gold robes that suited him exceptionally well, and Thranduil did little to hide his appreciation. "Excuse me," he said and, after a mildly confused glance towards Elrond, sat next to Elrohir and across from Glorfindel at the end of the table. "I forgot the time."

"I suppose that is easy to do here," Elrond answered mildly and Thranduil rolled his eyes. Down the table Bard shot him a pained half-smile. 

After the events of the days and weeks past, conversation was not easy to come by. Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir tried to say as little as possible and disappear into their chairs, still fearing their fathers' retribution. That left two different pockets of supper attendants to speak to each other. Thranduil had little interest in speaking to Elrond any more than he already had that day, but he was cut off from speaking to Bard at ease. Even Glorfindel would have been preferable; they had worked out a stable truce over the past two weeks, punctuated by occasional verbal altercations only. 

Suddenly that same Elf laughed at something Bard said and called out, "Elrond, have you ever heard how the esteemed King Bard here managed to smuggle our Dwarvish friends and the Hobbit into the town on the Long Lake?" When he noticed Thranduil's mild glower he added with a grin, "After they escaped Thranduil's dungeons, apparently."

Pursing his lips, Thranduil cleared his throat. The wink Glorfindel shot in his direction did not escape him, and at least it made for an engaging enough tale to pass the time. 

The meal finished, Legolas looked up at him from his left. "Ada—"

He shook his head. "We will speak tomorrow. Take this night to rest."

For a moment Legolas looked as if he wanted to say something, then he thought better of it and nodded his acknowledgement. 

From the corner of his eye Thranduil saw Bard shake his head at Elrond and then make his excuses before joining him. Bard shot a last glance towards Elrond and Glorfindel and said, "Do you have to stay?"

"No," Thranduil told him and they left together, the gaze of the guard following them. "Would you care for a drink?"

Bard glanced at him from the corner of his eye with so much exasperation that it made Thranduil chuckle. "I will have to collect my things, but then I just want to … retire."

"Which things are these?"

Hesitating momentarily, Bard eventually shrugged. "I was considerably angry after Galion's summons and the royal bed just seemed too much." When he noticed Thranduil's eyes on him — Thranduil was torn between a fond smile and the feeling of having failed an expectation — he shook his head. "Don't. I did not expect that and I'd rather forget about it. I think your Elves were distraught enough by it to last us a lifetime. My lifetime, at least."

They would be distraught indeed; their fondness for Bard extended to a wondrous attunement to his moods and how they affected both Elvenking and consort. The only ready answer Thranduil had was a nod, but when Bard brushed their shoulders together, he smiled. "I assume that task will have been taken care of already. My attendants are thorough."

"I will still check," Bard told him and paused for a moment as they passed into another hallway, the guard following them again with his eyes. "Have you noticed all the furtive glances?"

Thranduil kept his counsel until they were a few more steps away. "I daresay your mood has been observed and our conversation earlier was loud enough to be heard." He brushed his hand over Bard's as they talked. "And you know no matter the kindred people will … talk."

Bard snorted at the understatement and shook his head. "I take it your Elves will be mindful of my every breath these next few days?"

"You make it sound as if that is not usually the case." Thranduil gave the words levity with a smile which earned him rolled eyes. "I think there will be no shortage of talk before the winter."

A quiet laugh answered him and Bard squeezed his fingers briefly. They parted ways then and the guard at the entrance to Thranduil's quarters stared at him with an almost pained mien when he passed alone. Usually he knew the guards were there, but he hardly noticed them on a regular basis for their ubiquitousness in his halls and on campaign. That he did so now spoke for itself. That Bard entered the chamber several minutes later — empty-handed, for his possessions had been stored away already — with a thoroughly bemused expression on his face did not help his countenance.

"Your Elves are acting strange," he stated and stepped right into Thranduil's space. "No wonder Elrond thinks them panicked."

"Did he say that?"

Bard nodded then looked at him and waggled his eyebrows. "After supper. I told him he might want to be less concerned unless it affected his own people." 

That startled a laugh out of Thranduil that was cut off by a hard kiss, almost bruising, and this time he gave in. The sound of almost silent Elvish footfalls came to him from beyond the door, but as there was no alarm he ignored them. Instead he let himself be walked back slowly, never quite breaking contact between them. The kiss grew deeper, tongues and lips and teeth, and their breaths grew heavier.

Bard once more growled at the clasps of his robes, but seemed to be in similar binds with his own. Chuckling, Thranduil broke the kiss, took both of his hands in his own and kissed Bard's fingers. Those clasps were designed to be complicated and intricate to discourage them from coming loose in the middle of conducting official business, but in the present situation they were a true obstacle. "Defying Elrond," Thranduil murmured. "Did you know that he is revered for his wisdom and advice?"

At this Bard grimaced and let Thranduil undo the clasps on both their clothes. "Is he charging for that? Because it can't be worth that much if he's so wilfully blind." He shook his head. "And I have an advisor."

"Do you now?" Thranduil asked and tilted his head to expose his throat when Bard slid the kaftan off his shoulders and leaned in to nip and suck at his skin while he worked on Bard's clothes. His breath stirred Bard's hair and the warmth of his skin radiated even through the tunic when he finally slid away the overcoat. 

A hum answered him, vibrating against the thin skin of his throat, making his breath hitch. The rest of their clothes was quickly discarded and ended up on the floor. Then Bard gave him one last shove to make him land on the bed, following him down instantly. Bard hovered above him, kissing him again, lips and tongue and hands drawing moans and sighs out of Thranduil. 

"You know," Bard said quietly against the hollow of his throat, sharply nipping the skin and then soothing it, "this bed was not the only piece of pompous furniture that was empty while you were gone. That showy throne with its bloody antlers has been unoccupied as well." When Thranduil made an inquiring sound, Bard looked up and grinned in a way that could only be described as lewd. At the same time, he dragged his hand over Thranduil's stomach and then lower, stroked feather light fingertips along his length, drawing a moan and a predictable reaction out of him. Then Bard let go, much to his frustration, instead wound his hair around one finger, tugging lightly. 

Thranduil stroked an errant strand of hair away from his forehead, tracing the contours of Bard's face, the lines and grooves time had carved there, and when the kiss ended asked, "What about my throne then?"

"Hmm, I just might have had ideas of what two people could get … up to, up there."

Truly, Thranduil had no chance to stop the laugh bubbling up in his chest and when it broke out of him Bard grinned back at him, chuckling quietly. When he calmed down again, he gathered momentum and rolled them over to place himself on top. He dragged a nail over Bard's chest and relished the goosebumps rising up. "I think that is quite a bit more exposure than we ever bargained for."

He began to lightly kiss down Bard's throat, nipping at the fragile skin sharply in contrast and was rewarded with a small gasp that made him grin. When he reached the juncture of neck and shoulder he nipped again before making his way back up. Just next to where Bard's pulse beat closest to the surface he started to suck gently. Thranduil wasn't satisfied before the bruise was lurid and dark, would stay for days and be visible above even high collars.

"Perhaps," Bard allowed, but the smugness was lost by the breathless gasp he said it in. "See what my fevered imagination had to come up with while you were gone." Bard arched up into his touch with an involuntary thrust, needy little noises being drawn from him. 

"Point taken," Thranduil told him and sealed the statement with a kiss that Bard responded to with a pleased sigh, letting his fingers trail through Thranduil's hair and down his arms. Almost akin to relearning their bodies, they explored with lips and hands. When Thranduil nipped at the bruise he had left on his neck it earned him a little noise of complaint until he let his lips drift lower, over collarbone and shoulder, hand resting on Bard' stomach. 

A nip to the arch of his ear made him gasp and look up again, taking in the promising grin on Bard's face. He raised an eyebrow and Bard's grin got wider for a moment before he sought his lips again, tongue pushing into his mouth. An arm wrapped around Thranduil's waist and Bard braced himself on his free hand to half sit up, and while he did wonder what this was supposed to mean, Thranduil had little more capacity than to make an inquiring noise. He felt more than heard Bard laugh into the kiss as he used weight and momentum to turn them around. Instead of hovering above him however, Bard merely stretched to gather the small bottle of oil from next to the bed. On the way back he kissed Thranduil, pinched his nipple to draw a gasp out of him and handed him the bottle. 

When Thranduil, half off the mattress himself now, raised an eyebrow in question Bard grinned once more and knelt next to him. Understanding, Thranduil let his second brow climb along the first. He sat properly, turning Bard's face to him to press their mouths together, and whispered teasingly, "Sure your knee is up to this?"

"Stop harping about that knee, what could possibly have happened to it here the last few weeks?" Bard answered and kissed him hard. Taking his words at face value, because this was truly not the time to start doubting Bard, he kissed his shoulder and unstoppered the bottle. As the scent of lavender and sage enveloped him for a moment, Bard got on all fours. They didn't do this often, mostly because Thranduil liked to kiss without either of them craning his neck, but it was not unheard of in any constellation. Bard at least looked comfortable enough as Thranduil started touching him, and said with considerable mirth in his voice, "Besides, I could always have asked Elrond for his services."

Judging by the laugh that turned into a heartfelt moan, he had expected Thranduil's growl and subsequent punishment in the form of a pinch to the thigh while two of his fingers were deep inside of him. That was new. And interesting. However, Thranduil filed it away for the future as he positioned himself behind Bard. It took a little adjusting, because usually he would take his cues from his eyes and the expression on his face, but they had no problems making it work. The only noises in the room were their breathing and the slapping of their skin, joined by sighs and a moan when he reached around Bard to take him in hand.

He could hear both their hearts hammering against their ribs, breath ever more audible. For a moment he draped himself over Bard's back, licked his skin, faint scars from a life lived under grim circumstances, tasting salt. He felt him push back into his chest, then Bard shifted his hand and grabbed for Thranduil's, held him in place that way. 

Thranduil felt Bard grow tense beneath him, and then it didn't take long until they lay sated and sheathed in sweat next to each other. Bard's heartbeat slowed as he rested his head on Thranduil's chest and idly wove strands of his long hair around his fingers. Thranduil, in turn, dragged his blunt nails over his arm and along his back, drawing an occasional shudder out of him.

"This was not what I expected when I said I would like to see you before summer," Thranduil mused and kissed his temple. Their disagreement was not forgotten, but they both had made their point, and they would have to act accordingly in the future. Neither of them could do much about it right now. 

"I could have done without all the excitement," Bard grumbled. "And the visitors."

"That is a very polite understatement," Thranduil answered and drew him in closer.

At first the answer was another wordless grumble and Bard rested a hand on his stomach, another point of contact. For a while then they were quiet, enjoying the traces of pleasure still coursing in their blood, as well as each other's company. Thranduil could have dropped off to sleep, but Bard was still awake, clearly mulling something over; his stubble was scratching lightly, a familiar sensation. 

"I've been paying attention," Bard eventually said. "Your kingdom could run itself, couldn't it? Everyone knows what to do. If a true emergency occurs your council will act, but the Elves don't need day-to-day governing?"

Thranduil roused himself and reached for Bard's hand to link their fingers. He still wasn't pleased that his council had taken advantage of the situation and roped Bard into governing by proxy. This would require words with Núneth especially, but it could wait until Bard had gone back to Dale. "For a time," he allowed eventually. "This past age has been … instructional."

Snorting, Bard glanced at him. "Your councillors seem to be working very much in concord."

Thranduil exhaled in annoyance. "To undermine me, certainly. They have had three millennia of practice now."

"Wonder what they would say if we desecrated that throne of yours," Bard answered teasingly and laughed when Thranduil dug his fingers into his ribs and rolled on top of him. They rolled around in the bed for a while laughing, tickling and pinching sensitive spots until they came to a rest again with Thranduil on top. Bard's eyes still glittered with mirth as he wound his arms around his neck and craned up to kiss him. "It's certainly something to keep in mind."

Chuckling, Thranduil returned the kiss and entangled their legs, let his weight rest on Bard without protests. "Remind me to never leave you alone for too long again."

"I'll hold you to that." Bard sighed and rested his hands warmly on the small of Thranduil's back, kissed his cheek. "So tell me, what are you plans for our continued dealings with our guests?" 

They kept talking quietly, letting their hands roam at random for a while longer, about plans and contingencies for the coming seasons. Despite the circumstances, Thranduil was glad Bard had awaited him here. It made having to deal with Elrond almost worth the aggravation.

After a month in the wild, sleeping at all — and waking in a bed — was by itself a pleasure. Waking enveloped in their shared warmth was a luxury, and with a stretch Thranduil shifted and wrapped his arm around Bard's middle to pull him close. When he dropped a kiss on his exposed shoulder, Bard made a sound of protest and linked their fingers over his stomach, pulled them closer together.

"Too early for that," he complained, but still arched into Thranduil's chest and resettled into the embrace.

"Just trying to make the most of this happenstance of you being here," he murmured back and dragged his lips further up to press them against the thin skin behind one ear.

That made Bard chuckle and he raised their joint hands to his mouth, which left warm and slightly damp traces on Thranduil's skin. "Don't you have duties today?" When Thranduil sighed demonstratively Bard laughed quietly and turned around. Then, before he caught Thranduil's lips in a firm kiss he suggested, "Well maybe we can postpone that."

They went to break their fast together a while later, talking quietly, the air around the attendants far more at ease than it had been the previous evening. Bard followed one of them with his eyes, then raised an inconspicuous eyebrow at Thranduil, who answered with a tiny lopsided smile. When Elrond joined them he stopped short in the arch that separated the room from the hall before he intoned a quiet, "Good morning."

An expression that could only be read as mild confusion settled on his features, but before he could say anything Glorfindel entered, brightening the room in a way that made Thranduil roll his eyes. Bard pressed a foot to his calf under the table from his customary seat on his left, a twinkle in his eyes when he smirked but otherwise remained quiet. Soon after, Elladan and Elrohir along with Legolas followed, still looking contrite and not speaking much.

Eventually breakfast was finished and Thranduil said to his son, "Legolas, follow me."

He did not look back to check whether his son was indeed doing so, or how everyone else reacted; he trusted that his command as father and king still held true, and he knew Bard would have anticipated this. 

In the solar he turned around and studied his son.

"Are you exiling me again?" Legolas asked, barely managing to look at him.

Thranduil knew his smile was tinged with bitterness. "Last time you exiled yourself." He shook his head. "No."

"Then what is my punishment?"

Inwardly Thranduil sighed and changed tactics. Of course he could always send Legolas to Duinhir, who could always use another set of hands. Alairë would be pleased to have her brother-in-law at their side, but it was unlikely that would change anything. Legolas would need to find that out for himself, though Thranduil had hoped that his time away had achieved that much a few years ago. Evidently that had not been the case. "I will not punish you."

Legolas frowned. "Then what?"

"Punishment indicates a learning experience. I think we are past that." His son's eyes grew huge in surprise and his mouth fell open but no sound emerged. "Do as you see fit. But do not expect me or your brothers to come to your aid next time you want to waste your life."

Thranduil knew it was a gamble and that it was possible he was giving Legolas carte blanche for more thoughtless actions, but no matter that he was Thranduil's son, he also had the right to make decisions for his own life. A long time ago Thranduil had been more than concerned about Aldarion's decision to take up wandering and even to this day he did not like to see him ride off, but he was at ease because at least Aldarion had never endangered his life lightly. Thranduil would always worry for his children, but apparently Legolas more than the other two had to struggle to find his way. What little Thranduil could discern of the future told him that the time for that might be a way off yet.

"What do you want me to do?" Legolas asked now, unsure for one of the first times since he had started to develop affections for Tauriel years ago. At the same time, he sounded stubborn and petulant. 

"That is not for me to decide," Thranduil answered quietly. His son averted his eyes and pressed his lips together. "You do not need to make a decision now. But it has been going on long enough, and if you are unwilling to put an end to it yourself then I need to tell you this."

After several breaths, Legolas glanced at him again and nodded. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the solar. Thranduil exhaled heavily and took the stairs to walk up and glance over his woods. The leaves had come in and all the crowns were carpeted in lush green. The weather held, for now, but soon rains would come through as they did every year. He hoped that until then Elrond and his retinue were safely on the road and Bard would be back in Dale where he was needed at this time of year. 

The trees held no answers for him, no matter how much he might wish they would, so eventually Thranduil turned around and walked out of the solar as well. 

"Galion," he said and his aide was at his side almost instantly. It was time to work through the missives and reports that had piled up during his absence, at least for a while until he needed to make polite conversation with Elrond again. For now he assumed that the esteemed Lord of Imladris would want to speak with his sons too. 

Later that day he found Bard, inexplicably, in the library, seemingly asleep with his head pillowed on his arms on one of the tables. However, Thranduil knew his breathing when asleep and this was not it. Still he let him be while he went to retrieve a book at random, then he sat close and propped it on the table, holding it open with one hand. With the other he reached out and stroked the tips of his fingers over Bard's hair and down his back, scratching lightly with his fingernails. When he dragged them back up and down his arm to the elbow, Bard shifted to uncover one eye and open it, then closed it again and shifted more into the touch.

For a while Thranduil continued like that, just touching for its own sake. It was the easy company they kept each other that made them work well together, probably more than their mutual attraction. After uncounted minutes Bard sighed and raised his head, rested it again on his crossed arms so he could look at Thranduil fully. "Did you chop any heads off?"

Smiling, Thranduil acknowledged the humour in that. "No," he answered and let his fingers tangle in Bard's hair, scratching lightly. "Though if we have these guests for much longer, I refuse to guarantee for anything." He paused and brushed his thumb along the ridge of Bard's ear. "Legolas is hopefully doing some thinking."

Bard snorted at that, but thankfully chose not to comment. "I spent the day with Glorfindel, I thought that was the safer option. He is less dismissive than Elrond."

For Thranduil this was not in the least surprising, even if he too only knew the tales, though he'd had them from Tuor himself after the refugees of Gondolin had joined the survivors of Doriath at the Havens of Sirion. He gave up the pretence of the book and focused on Bard instead. "Elrond has rejected his mortality, while Glorfindel took on the Balrog that killed him to ensure Elrond's grandparents Idril and Tuor got out of Gondolin when it fell."

"He's like Eryn, isn't he?" It sounded glum.

"Elrond? The matter of the Half-elven stopped being as clear cut as it once was when the Valar started to meddle. So the answer is both yes and no, but unless one of these powers starts to take a special interest in you or your family, I would not worry. So far I have seen no evidence of that." He couldn't help the relieved smile that coloured his voice. 

Snorting, Bard sat up straight and grimaced at something protesting, possibly his back. Thranduil brushed his hand once more over the muscles before letting it fall away; Bard reached for it then. "Something to be thankful for. Did you want to stay here?"

He shook his head. "I came looking for you. My library was the last place I expected you."

"You and everyone else." Bard sighed and rolled his shoulders, then leaned in and brushed his lips against the arch of Thranduil's ear. "Shall we go and hide together until it's time to feed our guests?"

Chuckling dryly, he let himself be drawn up. "Why, my Lord, if you insist."

"I do," Bard answered and laughed when Thranduil waggled his eyebrows. 

Elrond, his sons and Glorfindel together with their guard finally left two days later. Thranduil and Bard saw them off together, though Legolas had — maybe wisely — opted to stay away. Presumably he had made his goodbyes with the twins already.

"I hope we will not meet again before the time comes," Thranduil told Elrond and then paused. "Actually, not even then."

Elrond in turn regarded him with an exasperated sigh and a raised chin. "Before long you, too, will realise what we are facing and that we need to depart this world. Our time has passed."

"So you say." 

Nodding, Elrond extended the gesture of farewell. "Thranduil."

"Elrond."

Moments later Bard joined him as Glorfindel also mounted his horse who shook its head, bells jiggling. They watched the train of horses setting into motion and Bard turned to him. "I heard that."

"Which part?"

"You don't believe in his predictions." 

Thranduil regarded him for a long moment. Indeed, he had no intention to sail in any sort of foreseeable future. He could always be killed, of course, but that was a chance for every living, breathing creature out in the world. But like Cúthalion had said years ago, there were duties they had to fulfil and those in their care who needed watching. And Thranduil would never abandon his people, even if only a small population should still hold out one day. For now that did not seem likely; Elflings were being born and grew up with everything ahead of them, they did not live in a world yet that held no curiosity for a young Elf and that was so bleak it was unbearable. But that was not something Bard would understand easily. The days of Men were numbered, after all. That was why what Thranduil said was, "It is more complicated than that."

Probably because he had spent a great amount of time with Elves by now, Bard accepted those words at face value and nodded. Then he nudged Thranduil with his elbow and kept their arms touching. "I need to get home as well."

Resigned, Thranduil nodded. They had discussed it, and for now he would remain in the Woods instead of accompanying Bard as he usually would. His annual summer visit was only weeks off and having left his kingdom to run itself for a month now, he needed to get on top of what had piled up once more. But Bard was needed in Dale indeed, and Sigrid would be due soon as well. 

In the end they both had their responsibilities and obligations they couldn't — and more importantly didn't want to — shirk, and that was so self-evident that they didn't even have to speak of it. Thranduil felt that surety though, when he kissed Bard goodbye later and sent him on his way with an escort. Their mild differences the last days aside, they were very much on the same page.


	2. Chapter 2

Steps scuffed on the stairs to his study, a move that could only be intentional. Glancing up from his paperwork, Thranduil put the missive down when he recognised Legolas on the landing. He invited him to step up and sit. Consequently his son brought one of the low stools that were set aside with him and settled next to the pool. It had been more than a week since their confrontation and while they shared a meal once a day, they had not spoken much. 

Even now Legolas was quiet, not meeting his eyes. For a while Thranduil studied him, then glanced towards the pool that was inexplicably rippling slightly. 

"I talked to Feren," Legolas finally stated, exhaling suddenly. Thranduil merely raised an eyebrow in question; he was curious what might have come to pass there. "He agreed to let me join the guard again, provided I follow commands this time."

Indeed, the last time Legolas had simply attached himself to a guard contingent he had been outside its command structure; a hanger-on, not a member. Tauriel had let him because Thranduil had commanded her to, thinking Legolas with the soldiers might convey a few lessons and keep him from wandering like his brother. In the end that had accomplished little.

"This is clearly Feren's decision," Thranduil told him, tone intentionally dismissive. 

Yet Legolas remained seated, sighed. "Ada, I forced your hand. I should have realised no one has the right. I have no way to make it undone. But I need to know … what will be."

At this Thranduil could only shake his head. "Your road leads elsewhere, but not yet. That is all I will tell you."

It was all he knew at present, truly. Thranduil did not believe that Legolas' way lay in wandering as Aldarion's did, but by now he was certain he would bid Legolas farewell to only return seldom to his home … or not at all. In times long past it had been common for sons to make their own realms, though it had not been practiced in Doriath. Still he smiled when his own son's expression turned confused. 

"What do you mean?"

"No more than I just said." He pushed the sheaf of paper away and focused on Legolas until he shifted uncomfortably. "And no less."

Silence fell between them as Legolas seemed to mull it over, frowning as he tried to unpuzzle the message. More than once Thranduil had wished he knew all that was to come for his children, but seeing them leave one by one and watching Bard's son and daughters grow up so unusually fast before his eyes, he knew now this was not to be. In the end they each would make their way, even if it took them on a journey of no returns, and no matter how much it might trouble him.

Finally, Legolas cleared his throat. "I came to tell you also, I will be following your commands from now on. Your trust is dear to me and I would not lose it. Not again, that is."

With that Legolas got up and executed a formal and perfect court bow before making for the stairs without another word or waiting for an answer. Looking after him, Thranduil let out a long breath. This had been an unexpected, but decidedly not unpleasant development he could not even have hoped for when he'd looked down at Legolas in that hole in Dol Guldur almost a month ago. Feren, he knew, would keep Legolas largely on duty in the forest and along the river, a punishment of sorts, but mild enough that it was not undue for a prince. 

With a slight smile Thranduil again took up the paper he had set aside. Perhaps the pieces would fall into place yet, for whatever future they were supposed to show.

~*~

The trees had gotten all of their leaves and summer wasn't far off by the time Galion informed him that Aldarion was on his way towards the gates. Just Aldarion, no sign of his Rohirric companion. A frown on his face, Thranduil went to the solar to wait, and indeed his son entered just minutes later. Unlike what he might have expected, Aldarion didn't seem in the least subdued or upset, but just waved Galion off with a laugh when he asked Aldarion whether he would require anything.

"A bed, as always. I'm sure I will be able to find it on my own without your guidance."

When they were alone, Thranduil offered his son a cup of wine that he accepted. "You are alone," he observed.

Aldarion nodded. "Lucan is still in Dale, I didn't want to drag him out here for an errand. I came just to report in person … and to tell you that Sigrid has had the baby." Indeed, she had been due, but still Thranduil raised both eyebrows in surprise. Aldarion gave a gracious nod. "Everything went well, even Bard has calmed down again. He also has an heir now, a boy named Girion."

That was encouraging news indeed, though Thranduil looked a bit sceptical at the name. "Girion?"

Smiling with a certain amount of amusement, Aldarion toasted him with his cup. "The oldest son of his generation," he returned. "Cúthalion's idea. He knows the new royal names need to remain free for Bain's children."

The late Lord Girion was to the Men of Dale a distant ancestor, a very distant legitimisation to Bard's claim to rule. Cúthalion had met him a time or two, and for Sigrid the names of her father and brother were unavailable since they belonged to Bain's heirs, but they could still connect their family to the ancient bloodline this way. 

With a nod Thranduil acknowledged this. "Is Bain on his way then?"

"He is. Tauriel accompanied him among his guards. From what we saw downriver, the roads are clear and the area between the rivers peaceful. For the most part."

At these words Thranduil caught his eyes. "What else have you seen?"

Aldarion seemed to consider his answer for a long moment, looking down at the dregs of his wine. "I will not presume to call the villages down the Celduin a problem, by our standards they would hardly be of notice, but I agree with Tilda when she says they will become a nuisance in the long run. Especially that wretch Alfrid."

"Tilda said that?" It amused Thranduil — but it didn't surprise him — that Tilda of all people would give that moody an assessment. When Aldarion nodded with a smile of his own, he sobered though. "What would you suggest?"

"That is for Bard to decide, isn't it?" Aldarion seemed contemplative, then shrugged. 

Thranduil felt his lips twitch momentarily. Clearly he had an opinion, but if he had given it to Bard — the sovereign of the kingdom affected — Thranduil would not obligate him to voice it now. Doubtlessly Bard had made a decision already.

A moment later Aldarion rolled his shoulders and got up with a sigh to refill his cup. He sat again and moved his hair out of the way, then said, "Lucan and I will be staying in Dale until Bain is back. We have been on the road for a long time and if winter finds us still there, it is a better place than some. And certainly more comfortable than the southern wilds."

This was a surprising development; to Thranduil's best knowledge Aldarion had not spent longer than the winter months in any one place for a long time and now it was only spring.

"I am sure it will be appreciated," Thranduil finally said and received a derisive snort at that statement, because he knew exactly what all involved parties thought of this. "I assume the Rohirrim will be glad to have Lucan there for a longer time."

In answer Aldarion barked a humourless laugh. "Try telling that to Lucan. He knows Dale doesn't strictly need us, and neither do Sigrid and Tilda. But I feel it might be advantageous for everyone, and it might make Bard rest a little easier come winter."

The suggestion certainly had merit, but this was not just about Bard, but also about his daughters and Lucan, who all of them not always appreciate their Elvish friends and relatives voicing their opinion in this way. Which was why instead of answering Thranduil raised an eyebrow and Aldarion cracked a smile, understanding well enough what he meant to say. 

"Will you ride back with me?" Thranduil asked, effectively changing the topic. If Aldarion und Lucan wanted to stay in Dale for the year, he would not stand against it, considering it also meant he would get to see his son more often. It could also never hurt to show their coalition. After all the Dwarves, too, retained a presence in Dale during the year. 

Thranduil's annual stay in Dale was only a few weeks away and he saw no reason why Aldarion should not wait until then. A moment later his son nodded, then tilted his head. "Bard told me about Legolas and the twins got up to. Are you _sure_ you didn't find him in the cabbage patch like you told Tilda?"

In answer, Thranduil almost choked on the mouthful of wine he had just taken and glowered at the Elf in front of him, whose only reply consisted of a grin. Thranduil raised his chin and said, "What makes you think I didn't find all of you there?"

~*~

The summer was hot, which meant the inevitable storms were brewing with all the dangers of hail and potential flash floods that they usually brought. When Thranduil entered the palace in Dale, where all shutters had been thrown open to the freshening breeze, thunder rolling in the distance, Bard was out on the fields somewhere, helping to protect the harvest and bring in what could be harvested already. He brushed the first drops of rain off his clothes and took a breath of the warm air in the kitchen.

Sigrid sat on a bench, nursing her son resting on a pillow in her lap. She caught his eye briefly, smiled and focused back on the baby, stroking a thumb gently over his temple. Girion looked up at his mother and made breathing noises as he swallowed. For a while they were both quiet, listening to those noises and to the rain as it pelted down outside. Thranduil could see Sigrid counting in her head the beats between lightning and the clap of thunder the way she had done for as long as he had known her. Bard had told him that as a child she had been afraid of thunderstorms, which on the lake could get quite violent, and this method was how she kept that fear at bay even now.

"It should pass us by," Thranduil told her and she nodded absently. The swallowing noises diminished and Sigrid reached up to unlace her bodice a little more, then gently slipped her little finger into the corner of her son's mouth to detach him from her breast. Girion had other ideas and made protesting noises.

She murmured something about him being his father's son and shifted him onto the other side before offering him her other breast that he quickly latched onto. Shaking her head in mild exasperation, she rearranged her clothing and carefully rolled her shoulders to not disturb the baby. Then she looked up at Thranduil. "So when will you take my children away?"

Surprised Thranduil rose an eyebrow and received the same in return. "I have trouble recalling when I threatened to abscond with the scions of your house," he told her, achieving haughty amusement. 

"It's hardly a secret, Thranduil," she answered, keeping her voice even. "At least to Cúthalion and me, and I guess Da won't be surprised, if not necessarily happy. Though someone will have to tell Bain's wife, if he ever finds one."

He studied her, listening to the storm coming closer, but it was already further to the east and would not hit the city directly. The rain would be good for all crops, though. "Not for years."

Indeed, Thranduil had long planned to foster the scions of the royal line of Dale in the Woodland Realm for a while. It would discourage assassination attempts and strengthen the ties between the two kingdoms. And at least in the case of Sigrid's children they would for a time grow up among the other half of their heritage, to live and learn among Elves. He wasn't sure yet when the best time would be, but not before they were independent and strong enough to handle the separation. 

She glanced at him sceptically, then looked down at her son as he drank. "They don't think I notice, but Cúthalion is earning himself some glances from the other Elves. Two children in four years, they think us some kind of fiends no doubt."

At this Thranduil couldn't suppress a smirk. Of course, for a people who usually spaced children a hundred years apart that was extraordinary and no doubt reason to talk. Especially such a — as Bard put it — gossipy bunch as Elves. 

With a wink Sigrid let him know that neither of them discouraged the idea that they were some sort of sexual fanatics. Considering the results were children who could act as heirs, it was hardly a negative track record to have.

The noises of drinking had faded and she stroked gently over Girion's cheek. "No falling asleep there," she chided him gently. Thranduil didn't think it even registered, the child's eyes had fallen shut and he seemed utterly content. The pungent smell of digested milk started to fill the room, and she unlatched the infant from her breast carefully and re-laced her bodice with one hand. Then she set the pillow aside and got up, bending to kiss Thranduil on the cheek on her way upstairs. 

Minutes later she returned, Girion still sleeping, and she handed him to Thranduil. "Hold him, will you? I can't sit that long and he hates it when I walk him while he sleeps."

Indeed Girion fussed in her arms until she handed him over, then she pressed her hands into the muscles of her back, massaging left and right of her spine. After a second Girion quieted and Thranduil stroked over his belly with his free hand. The typical scent of baby enveloped him now, milk, soap and marigold from the cream used to prevent rashes. Glancing up at Sigrid, Thranduil frowned and wondered whether she was all right. But as he could detect no hint of distress in her bearing, he assumed it was likely a consequence of childbirth. It didn't matter whether Elves were around to take care of her, this was a far more profound event than a simple injury and her body would need time to recover. 

Instead of inquiring after her health he said, "Bard told me you wanted to take care of the matter of the Long Lake?"

She snorted in answer. "Yes, when I can ride again. I'll talk to a few people, I don't think it will be a problem. I just need to coordinate this with Da and Tilda."

"You have talked about this in detail?" He kept his voice gentle, though Sigrid knew him well and could see this would have been a sharper comeback but for the baby in his arms. 

Shaking her head, she answered, "Maybe you should discuss this with Da."

For a while he studied her, but then let it go. Perhaps Bard had not informed her about the entirety of his plans, considering any action would be a time in coming yet. It was early in the year and they had maybe six months of actionable time left before snow threatened again. Plenty to take care of the Long Lake and any other potential sources of trouble, or nuisances, that Aldarion had hinted at. 

Girion snuffled in his sleep, made a small noise of complaint when he woke himself up that way and then let out a wail of discontent. In answer Sigrid came and took her son from Thranduil, making all the sounds mothers had made since the beginning of time to calm their children. Thunder still rolled distantly, the noise of torrential rain rushing outside, interrupted by the cries of an unhappy baby. 

The door opened, bringing Bard and Cúthalion along with a gust of wind. The two of them shook water off their clothes and out of their hair but to little avail, for they were both drenched. 

"Why is he crying?" Cúthalion demanded, sounding mildly outraged, and went straight to his wife and child. For a moment Thranduil wondered whether he had been this way with his own children — he did not need to question Bard, for he could infer the answer — and then shook his head with a smile. Sigrid, on the other hand, rolled her eyes in mild annoyance but still smiled and handed the baby over.

Meanwhile Bard had stepped up next to Thranduil and sighed. "The harvest is secure."

"It would be too bad about next year's ale production," Thranduil answered haughtily and followed when Bard made for the back of the room towards the stairs, presumably in search of dry clothes. 

Bard shot him a glance over his shoulder that was equal parts disdain and amusement. "Don't knock the ale just because you dainty Elves lack the palate for it. Besides, this was about our grain for the mill, our hops are growing closer to the city; and you _like_ the hops you get from us for tea."

"It is an adequate additive," Thranduil allowed and closed the door to the bedroom behind them. At this point Bard was already trying to peel the soaking wet clothes off of himself and the light tunic he had been wearing landed on the floor with a slap, breeches following quickly. Despite the warmth the room still held, he shivered slightly when a draft came through the half-closed shutters. With a mock sigh Thranduil went and embraced him.

"Hmm, live full-body warmer." Bard slid his arms around him, head bent and cheek pressed into his shoulder. Rivulets of water were running from his hair and down his back which Thranduil wiped away. "Almost as good as in winter. You should stay with me permanently."

Snorting quietly, Thranduil tightened his hold with one arm, slid his other hand into Bard's hair to stroke gently. The wet strands — in places more grey now than black — were heavy around his fingers and he set about detangling them as he went. The suggestion held far more appeal than Thranduil would ever admit. "My full worth to you, in essence."

With a chuckle Bard turned his head and kissed the base of his throat through a gap in his tunic. "Naturally," he said, slipping his hands under Thranduil's clothes and stroked over his lower back. 

"And now you also have dampened my wardrobe," Thranduil complained in a greatly exaggerated tone.

"Oh no, how will I ever make it up to you?" Bard answered with equal exaggeration and now started to unlace Thranduil's tunic, urging him to take it off. "I hear it's prudent to get out of wet clothes as quickly as possible."

"Truly? Well then, let us not dither." His lips were caught in a kiss, too hot even for the heat of the day and soon they had made short work of his clothes. 

The rain soon petered out, taking the warm day with it and making the air smell fresh. At some point later in the afternoon Bard woke from a short nap and rolled against him, intentionally bumping into him. He had been reading some of Sigrid's more recent writings, idly stroking his thumb over Bard's forearm. That hand now fell away with the movement and Bard pushed himself up to press a quick kiss to his cheek and the arch of his ear before settling comfortably against him.

"There are Dwarves digging in my basement. Do you happen to know anything about that?"

Thranduil stilled for a moment, then put the notebook aside and looked down. "Have you ever wondered what happened to Sigrid's dowry?"

That had been part of the peace settlement between Dale and Erebor, much to Bard's initial ire. Since Sigrid had married Cúthalion — who in turn had joined her household rather than the other way around — it had become moot, but the gold had still sat in the Mountain, held by the Dwarves for her. Until she had found better uses for it, anyway. That Dwarvish delegation Tauriel and Cúthalion had proposed to him had come and gone, and Thranduil had assumed he would hear about it sooner or later.

Bard glanced up at him in question. "What does that have to do with construction in my basement?"

"Maybe you should ask your daughter," Thranduil suggested and used the moment to drop a kiss on his lips. "Speaking of her, I hear a decision about the Long Lake has been made?"

"Sigrid will handle it. I'm not sure I like it." A slight hesitation followed as if he wanted to say something else but then thought better of it. Thranduil doubted he would have noticed had he known Bard less well. 

Humming contemplatively, he raised a hand and pulled in gentle reprimand on a fistful of Bard's hair. "And what are you and Tilda planning that needs to be coordinated with Sigrid?"

A frown spread on Bard's forehead before he shrugged, a gesture Thranduil felt more than saw. "I haven't finished thinking it through. We still have to deal with Alfrid somehow. I thought this might work better with a concentrated effort." Mildly impressed, Thranduil raised both eyebrows and Bard grinned self-consciously. "Your lessons in tactics were not wasted."

"I never thought they were." Indeed, Bard had taken to the lessons Thranduil had imparted with eagerness and grace, considering he had never been prepared for the sort of position he held now. Their affection for each other aside, they worked well together and they both knew that if Bard hadn't led the people who had made it out of the dragon-induced inferno, then there would have been no telling how many of them would have survived that first winter, or ever found a home again. Thranduil and Dáin might have crowned Bard, but he had made himself king by his actions and his determination to do right by his children and his people. That showed time and again, just as it did now when he sought to remove obstacles to their prosperity.

Bard sighed and trailed his fingers over Thranduil's chest and stomach. "I might ask you for something."

"Troops?" He had not planned to get more involved with the military campaigns of Dale, but if Bard asked him he would think twice about denying it. 

But Bard merely snorted and shook his head. "More inane than that, but let me think about it first."

"Very well." Thranduil decided to take that as the cue to end their conversation. He smiled suggestively and nudged Bard to get some space to scoot down and kiss him properly. "What do you suppose we might do in the meantime?"

Laughing into the kiss Bard cupped his cheek briefly with one hand and then stroked it back to caress the arch of his ear and tangle in his hair. "I'm not sure I'm up to that … again."

"I have no doubts we can think of something to accommodate," Thranduil answered and pressed his hand flat against Bard's chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under his fingers, a little faster now than usual. It was an indicator of sorts, telling him that for the moment all was right with the world. Meanwhile Bard hummed and pulled him closer, tilting his head to take the kiss from soft and playful to more serious.

~*~

It was almost on the brink of autumn when a thrush made its way to Thranduil. "Lord Bard requests the presence of the Elvenking at his earliest convenience … in his capacity as consort to the King of Dale."

Frowning, Thranduil dismissed the bird. This was unusual. In fact, it was unprecedented that Bard called on him as his consort. Between them it was largely a joke that was shoved into some semblance of seriousness only when required by some outside force. But equally doubtlessly the thrush would have told him if something in the city had been amiss. 

"Galion, get me Feren," Thranduil said almost conversationally and it took only minutes for his guard captain to attend him. "We ride for Dale tomorrow, have two contingents ready."

"Yes, my Lord," Feren acknowledged and strode off. 

When Thranduil rode into Dale the next day around noon, the city was in a flurry of activity, soldiers of the guard he recognised readying for departure, stowing gear in saddlebags and inspecting hooves. He exchanged a glance with Feren, reading confusion but no alarm and stopped one of the Rohirrim he had seen with Lucan in the past. "King Bard? Lord Aldarion?"

The man directed him towards one of the corrals outside the walls between Dale and Erebor, making Thranduil wonder again what was going on. Feren sent his own soldiers to quarter in the barracks as usual and then followed his king outside the walls. The pastures and fields between the two kingdoms were safe from harm, protected as they were, which was why much of the livestock was kept here between spring and fall. They found Bard and Aldarion leaning on a fence. Inside the large corral Lucan was doing close-quarter horsework with Tilda, riding up close in a canter and trying to pull her out of the saddle, using a wooden stick to indicate when he could have hit her or her horse with a sword. It was a common test of hunter and prey; Thranduil had seen it before with the Rohirrim. It indicated control over horse and weapon when the prey could retain control of their mount. 

Tilda, from what he could see, was doing well, although with a man like Lucan—who had grown up in the saddle since before he could walk—she was outmatched. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Thranduil asked and dismounted, handed his reins to Feren who stayed a few strides behind. 

Bard turned. "We ride to have a discussion with Alfrid."

From where he leaned against the fence on Bard's other side, Aldarion nodded at him in greeting. That was the moment Tilda whooped and launched herself out of the saddle to tackle Lucan to the floor. They rolled, catching the momentum of the fall and getting away from the deadly hooves of their horses. Panting, they came to a stop. Aldarion laughed, but Lucan pushed Tilda off of him and leaned over her, his fair hair falling into his face.

"Never do that again in jest," he admonished her. "With anyone less experienced it can get you killed."

She sighed in exasperation while Bard shook his head and pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to say anything. 

Thranduil cleared his throat. "I doubt you want me to come since you didn't tell me to come outfitted for war."

"No, of course not," Bard told him, then clapped Aldarion on the shoulder before joining Thranduil to steer him towards one of the pastures with a hand on the small of his back. Horses approached them and nuzzled at them, seeking treats and attention, and Bard let his hand fall away to pat them. "This is about the favour I would ask of you. Tilda is coming with me, Sigrid will go to Lake-town with Cúthalion and a few of the Elves here, and Bain is in Gondor — he sends his greetings. I need someone to be here, in case anything happens."

Thranduil let out a breath and studied Bard for a moment, wondering whether the man knew this was no wise course of action. More than that, this was more military mobility than he had expected when Bard had brought up the idea, but in a way it was at least reassurance. "Is that the reason why you asked me as your consort? For me to tell you that this is a foolish plan?"

A slight hesitation and then Bard sobered and sighed. "Have you tried stopping one of my daughters from doing anything? Because I tried, and this is all I can do to keep her safe. I'm going because I need to; Sigrid is going because she has to prove something to herself and thinks she has to prove something to us." He shook his head, let his hand drop again to ever so briefly entangle their fingers to show he understood the objection. "And you… I would entrust my kingdom to none other. And this is not a campaign on which I should take the Elvenking."

Lips twitching despite himself, Thranduil took Bard's hand securely in his own and squeezed. For now he'd let the matter of Sigrid rest, because Bard was right, she would not easily be dissuaded once she had made up her mind. "I would hardly want to discourage you," he said instead. "But this is rather … provocative for your general disposition."

"I know." Bard frowned and stroked along the soft nose of one of the horses milling around them. "Lucan suggested it might be good if I took some of the Rohirrim with me, apparently they're getting restless. And I can't say I will mind having trained cavalry with me."

At this he nodded. "When are you leaving?"

"The morrow. I had hoped you would make it by today, that leaves us some time."

Nodding again, Thranduil surveyed the horses cropping grass and milling around them. He couldn't help but wonder what the next few weeks would bring.

"You'll do it?" Bard asked and Thranduil directed his gaze at him.

Objections aside, he had no reason not to grant this request. "Of course."

That evening, before they retired to bed, he stepped outside the palace and went to where Aldarion sat on the rim of one of the fountains. Such precariously balanced was he that if he had not been an Elf, he would certainly have tumbled backwards into the water. As it was, he glanced towards Thranduil. "Trouble sleeping?"

"No. I was curious whether you had anything to tell me." Bard had elaborated his plan in private earlier; it was rather straight forward, ride there, force Alfrid out if he had to, speak to the people if they would join the Kingdom of Dale. He had little interest to force the matter, but Alfrid needed to go, even Bard agreed with that. It was a formidable military unit he was taking with him. Yet usually Aldarion had his own agenda in such situations.

But now Aldarion shook his head. "I have no plan to actively participate in this foolishness. Call me an observer. Bard needs to go now or lose the campaigning season, but if Sigrid wants to risk herself and Cúthalion does not stand against it I won't be the one to do so. They know my thoughts on that matter and so I will stand back as they ride. And Bard doesn't want me as an active participant."

"Then why are you going?" Aldarion would have made an acceptable stand-in to watch over Dale in Bard's absence. 

Shaking his head Aldarion trailed a hand in the water. "Lucan will lead the Rohirrim and I will accompany him."

"In what capacity?" When Aldarion caught his eye his lips twitched in a thoroughly bemused expression which told Thranduil his tone had not been quite casual enough. Finally he shrugged. Ultimately of course it didn't matter and changed none of the facts. From the corner of his vision Thranduil saw the Rohir in question come towards them, blond hair reflecting the moonlight. "Have a care not to do anything rash."

"Direct those words at Sigrid. And Bard." Lucan's voice floated through the night with the hard edge of someone used to bellow commands from the saddle, much contrary to his usual speaking voice. Momentarily Thranduil wondered when a man who had barely been of age when exiled had gathered enough experience for that sort of voice, but since he wouldn't get any answers to that he dismissed the thought. When Thranduil raised a questioning eyebrow at Lucan instead, the man shrugged. "His last battle was against the Orcs back then?"

"And when was your last battle?" Thranduil asked back and received a smile in return that was far too telling for his liking. It made clear that Aldarion had been up to far more than he had reported, but there was probably little point in worrying. Aldarion had shown many times that he could hold his own, and Lucan — order of execution or not — had grown up among a warrior people. "Bard is a dragonslayer, after all."

Lucan acknowledged that with a nod and then seemed to mentally dismiss Thranduil and turned to Aldarion. "Do you mind calling it a night?"

"No," Aldarion answered and hopped off the rim of the fountain with so much vigour that Lucan rolled his eyes at the showiness. He caught Thranduil's glance once more. "Goodnight, Ada."

Thranduil looked after them and shook his head. They were well matched, though he couldn't help but wonder how long they could maintain this lifestyle without consequence. He then snorted lightly at his own hypocrisy and made his way back to the palace, bypassing the communal rooms out of which he could still hear voices, and went upstairs. 

Bard stood in the middle of the room, looking around quietly searching and Thranduil knew he was mentally checking a list. His armour was made ready on a stand, waiting to be packed or put on in the morning. They would leave in two groups, Sigrid and Cúthalion down the river towards the Long Lake, while Bard and his troops would bypass the lake completely and make his way through the inland passes to not alarm anyone along the river. 

"Ready?" Thranduil asked from the door, closing it behind him. 

Shooting a glance over his shoulder, Bard shrugged. "As I'll ever be. We'll travel light and should be back in two weeks, give or take. No need to pack a lot. After all, I'm not some fabulous and mighty Elvenking."

Thranduil snorted, closed the distance between them with a few strides and wrapped his arms around Bard's chest. He pulled him against his chest and rested his chin on Bard's shoulder, nose turned in slightly so Thranduil could catch the scent of his skin. Bard exhaled long and thoroughly, raised his hands to Thranduil's forearms and held on, thumb idly stroking. It was still warm at this time of year, but the cooler night air was moving in through the window. 

Neither of them said anything, and for a long while they merely stood in the room, enjoying the moment of quiet and the security of each other's presence. Soon Bard leaned his weight into Thranduil, relaxing into the embrace. They remained like that until much later they finally made their way to bed, trusting gestures more than words, their bodies highly attuned with each other.

When Thranduil fell asleep that night it was with Bard's head pillowed on his chest, breath warm and moist against his skin, one hand curled loosely against Thranduil's stomach. He had been on enough campaigns to know that this would be the last night of comfort for a while and was sure Bard was also aware of this. The last night at home was always special and he was confident they had made the most of it, and Bard would be reminded of plenty of reasons to come back.

He watched the retreating troops the next morning with Sigrid by his side. They would leave a day later as their journey was considerably shorter, and she held Girion in her arms. She stroked over his head, soft with new hair — dark like his sister's — and then glanced up at him. "This is new for you, too, isn't it?"

"Rather," he confirmed. Indeed it was usually always him who had ridden off to skirmishes; this was the first time he had been the one to stay behind. He turned to enter the palace but felt her eyes on him as she looked after him, perhaps with a lopsided smile. But he was not done yet. "You can still stay."

The frown on her face was clearly audible in her voice. "I have to do this."

Turning to her, her deliberately looked her up and down. "Why? There is no urgency, no need. It is a short trip, the Long Lake and the city it shelters will still be there when your father has returned. You have no good reason to risk yourself and your children in this. I know Bard and Aldarion have said as much, and I have no doubt so has Cúthalion, why are you pursuing this?"

Still frowning, she looked at him for a long time without saying anything before she shook her head. "Because I have to," she said and turned around to attend to her own preparations. 

The next day at dawn — for Thranduil had not slept, but drafted a message to Duinhir so he would know where to find him should the need arise, and to Legolas to keep him in the Woods — she came to him. Attired in her riding clothes, hair plaited back and armoured in boiled leather, she leaned on the desk that stood in her father's bedroom and which he was currently working at. "I changed my mind."

"Indeed? What about?" He put the quill aside, curiosity winning out. "Are you not going to the lake?"

"Oh no, I am," she told him, shaking her head as if it was unthinkable she would reconsider and indeed, this was Sigrid after all. Her stubbornness was akin to her father's and often Thranduil would have wished she had not inherited this trait. Once she had made up her mind not even very good arguments would make her change it. "But Cúthalion and I agreed to leave Eryn here."

Frowning, Thranduil wondered how this had come to pass. "Why?"

"I can't leave Girion, he's too young. As long as he's still nursing that isn't an option." She retrieved a chair and sat next to him, took one of his hands and held it loosely between hers. "I'm rather sure this won't happen, but if none of us makes it back, it's up to her to pass on our legacy."

"Sigrid—" 

She raised a hand to stay him and Thranduil felt — in a weird mirage — reminded of himself. "I spoke to Cúthalion again, and he is right to want to leave Eryn. You told us Lord Girion's daughter was the one to rescue the Black Arrow from the ruins of Dale to pass it on to her descendants." He nodded. He had known her; Áira, a slip of a girl when her city had fallen, but with more courage than many other Men Thranduil had known in his time. Sigrid's eyes hardened and in them he could read the determination that threatened to break her back one day. "I am the daughter of the dragonslayer and the same blood flows through Eryn." 

A few heartbeats passed during which he held her gaze, then reached out and tucked a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid back behind her ear. She leaned into the touch when he stroked over her temple. She had grown up too quickly. It wasn't an excuse for how much of a risk this was, and how utterly stupid, but it was a fact. Thranduil sighed inwardly and said, "I will look out for your daughter."

Sigrid did plan to come back and take up her responsibilities again, but if not, then she wanted Thranduil to make sure Eryn would hold her family's claim. Thranduil, as well as probably Dáin, for Dale's ties to Erebor were growing stronger every year and Dáin was inexplicably fond of Eryn. In truth, without a male heir of age, Eryn had little chance of holding any claim to the throne, support from outside forces or not, yet it would be Thranduil's task to do what we could. At least that was what he told himself when he stood with Eryn and they looked at the slowly retreating form of her parents and the accompanying Elves.

Eryn was now four and didn't like to be picked up and carried anymore, probably because it took away her mobility and freedom. So she held his hand and glanced up at him. "Nana is coming back?"

"I have no doubt, Princess," he told her and found that indeed, he did not. 

He didn't know what he had expected to happen when he was left alone with a little girl. It had been a long time since his own children had been that young, but Eryn had always been a sweet child, if extremely stubborn. Still, it was different when children missed their parents, and maybe he had expected nagging and tantrums. But Eryn had utter trust in her mother's assurance of returning soon, and she was familiar enough with Thranduil that she was happy to spend the day with him. It was an adjustment of how he handled his duties for sure, but he liked having her around. Her questions and her energy were a welcome distraction.

Apparently Cúthalion had been telling her about Lúthien, her beauty and her fairness, and Eryn was asking ever for more, though as her father had not progressed to the breaching of the Girdle yet, Thranduil did not speak about Beren. Lúthien had lived a long life and Daeron — traitor that he had turned out to be — had written many a lay about her. 

The second day she ran squealing in joy to the wall of the palace and when Thranduil looked up, Dáin lumbered through the gate, scooping her up briefly only to set her down again. "Ah little squirrel, here you are. I was afraid the pixie had already whisked you away to the deep dark woods from where there is no return."

"Uncle Dáin, the woods are nice!" she protested but dragged him along. "Ada tell him your Woods are nice!"

"I daresay he knows that, Princess, he just has trouble admitting it." Dáin glowered at him for that, but Thranduil reached out and stroked over her hair, plaited back in two neat braids behind her ears. "Do you want to see when we can have a midday meal?"

Nodding, she was already running off a heartbeat later towards the door to the kitchens. They waited until she was out of immediate earshot and behind the thick walls of the palace, only then did they look at each other. Dáin seemed disgruntled. "We saw the guard change to an entire Elvish contingent. Did he have to leave you forest pixie in charge?"

"Better than a stumpy-legged imp," Thranduil shot back and raised his chin in belligerence, which made the Dwarf only glower more. "Is that the reason you waddled here, because Bard entrusted Dale to me?"

"I'm here to check on the progress below your dainty feet, of course you would never think to consider it." Dáin stumped his foot on the ground. "At least Sigrid remembered to send a messenger and tell me she had left little Eryn with you of all people. Who knows what might have happened."

"Am I the monster you tell the little Dwarves about?"

"You and all your ilk!" His eyes glittered with barely concealed mirth. 

Eryn came bounding up to them then, and pulled at both their sleeves to make them come inside, rolling her eyes at their enmity. In that she was very much like her mother, but far more serious, for Sigrid usually did it in faintly amused exasperation, and then presumably had a laugh at their expense with Cúthalion later on. As it was she had become — like her father, but a lot less officially — the conduit between the Woodland Realm and Erebor, dealing deftly with both sides and they let her force their hands when she felt she needed to. Eryn, in contrast, took it as serious as any four-year-old would, made them sit on opposite sides of the table and talk in civilised tones.

That evening it was a chore to get her to go to bed, and she told Thranduil repeatedly, "You can't argue with Uncle Dáin."

"He argues back very proficiently, Princess," he answered and stroked her hair, carding slow through the soft strands to calm her. It had always worked with Legolas, who had been a bad sleeper when he had been very little. 

"But you are the bigger man," she told him earnestly, which made him smile. She was too young — and of too mixed ancestry — to make that distinction properly, though he knew she had already asked about the difference in ear shape at the very least. Still it warmed his heart that she was so concerned about keeping it fair and comfortable between them.

"Of course, Princess. Sleep now." He stroked over her cheek and within moments she was out.

When he came back outside, for the evening was warm and he didn't relish the closed walls of the palace around him, Dáin was waiting for him, sitting on one of the low walls with a tankard in hand. "The little pointy-ear is sleeping?"

"For now," he allowed and settled on a low lounge that stood around the palace's courtyard. A cup of wine waited for him, doubtlessly put there by a diligent attendant. "Did you get into Bard's ale?"

"What of it? You're drinking his wine!" 

"I provide the wine; if I left it to Bard's palate, we would be drinking vinegar within a year. Nothing will make up for an unsophisticated taste during one's youth." He sighed heavily in mock exasperation and Dáin snorted.

"You pixies and your outrageous sophistication, it is a miracle you are as hardy as you are." It was a grudging admission.

Thranduil's smile was hidden by the rim of his cup. "Your little project is coming along nicely?"

Contrary to what Dáin probably thought, Thranduil had been down in the cellars and looked at the progress the Dwarves had made over the past few weeks. He had no fear of Dwarf-hewn caverns; he had grown up in Menegroth and called its walls home for a long time. Whether Dáin knew this or not he was not aware of, but if the Dwarf did, he chose to ignore it and frowned at Thranduil from behind his tankard. 

"This whole area is made up of granite, harder even than your pretty pixie skull." Dáin's expression was contemplative and his tone mulish in a typical Dwarvish manner. But behind that, Thranduil could see his expertise. "It's hard digging, but we expected that with a former volcano in the area. We leave enough load bearing columns and carve buttresses to retain integrity up here, but then you know all about that, don't you?" In answer Thranduil's wagged his eyebrows once, indicating that indeed Dáin could tell him little about static he hadn't figured out while they were constructing the stronghold under the hill. Still, this was in Dáin's blood more than in Thranduil's and he could appreciate the words of a master mason. "Sigrid wants it done within the decade, we will more than keep to that time frame."

Sigrid, no doubt, was ambitious. "You are, after all, handsomely rewarded for it."

"Jealousy is an ugly disposition, you can't even smooth the wrinkles with pixie dust, little fairy," Dáin said calmly.

Thranduil barely kept himself from laughing. "The midget speaks of little things," he mused. "I care not for attracting dragons to my kingdom. But then you'd know all about that, would you not?"

At this Dáin actually growled which Thranduil answered with a beatific smile. 

Five days later he and Eryn were breaking their fast when Ithril entered the kitchen in her full armour. Apparently she had been on watch; she and Feren spelled each other off to be watch captain during their stay here in Dale. Thranduil shot her a glance and raised a questioning eyebrow, while Eryn stuck the last spoon of porridge into her mouth and smiled brilliantly at her aunt. "Nana is coming back!"

"I would seem so," Ithril answered with a small laugh, resting a hand on her shoulder and shrugged at Thranduil, who found himself mildly startled. As watch captain on duty, Ithril would be informed in case anyone spotted one of the expeditions returning, but Eryn had no way to be aware of this. As far as he knew, she also had never exhibited any hint of foresight so far, though considering Ithril possessed it so he would not be surprised if Eryn, as her niece, developed it. Though the Eldar developed this ability only later in life and she was very young. 

Sighing internally, he pushed away from the table. "Well, then let us go and wait for your Nana."

"Yes!" Eryn exclaimed and stretched out her arms to be picked up by her aunt. The riders had been spotted from a long way off and it took a while for them to reach the walls of Dale. All that time Eryn showed an amazing amount of patience that belied her young age.

It was indeed Sigrid and Cúthalion and the Elves they had left with. Sigrid carried a long object wrapped in leather across her lap as she approached. Cúthalion carried Girion in a sling on his back, the baby sleeping peacefully. 

"Welcome back!" Thranduil called to her and she nodded with a large grin on her face. Ithril had set Eryn down but was still holding her back by the shoulder so she wouldn't get too close to the horse's hooves. 

But when Sigrid dismounted there was no holding Eryn back. She called, "Nana!" and launched herself at her mother. Sigrid had barely time to find her footing and hand the wrapped object to Thranduil before embracing her daughter. The horse wandered a few steps away to some apparently tasty looking grass and was only then led away by a groom. 

Meanwhile Cúthalion also dismounted, soft enough not to jostle his sleeping son, which might be the main reason he — rather than Sigrid — carried him, and handed over his horse before coming over to Thranduil. "That felt way too easy." Those were not the words Thranduil had wanted to hear because they usually didn't bode well. But when he looked at the younger Elf, he shook his head. "No, I just hadn't expected it. I thought it wasn't a good idea when we set out, but now... Sometimes I forget the force she is."

"And yet you live with her," Thranduil told him. 

Instead of a comeback, Cúthalion smirked and nodded at the wrapped parcel. "Look at that and tell me you expected that."

Curious, Thranduil carefully pushed some of the hides away. It was large and heavy and by its weight could only be made of metal. When Thranduil blinked at a Black Arrow — the last of which he had seen before Old Dale had fallen almost two centuries ago — his breath hitched for a moment. He had expected many things, but not this. "How?", he breathed.

"I will let her tell you," Cúthalion said. "Now I want to see Eryn."

The day didn't leave a lot of space for words, as Sigrid was greeted enthusiastically by the inhabitants of Dale, who all wanted to speak with her at once. And then Eryn, predictably, didn't let go of her mother all day. 

Only after supper, when Dáin had also come from Erebor once more to greet her back, did they have some time. But before Thranduil could truly ask she glanced at both of them and shook her head. "Da will never believe me when I tell him you had a peaceful nightcap together."

"It is hardly that," Thranduil protested and even Dáin made a noise that said he didn't agree with her assessment. 

"Sure," she agreed lightheartedly, making it clear she didn't believe a thing of what they said. Cúthalion chose that moment to come back from putting his children to bed and settled next to her, arm going around her waist automatically. Seeing that made Thranduil smile. "You're my witness that Dáin and Ada made it five minutes without insulting each other."

Cúthalion snorted. "I would rather vouch for your accomplishments."

"Flattery," Sigrid sing-songed and winked at her husband. 

Before Cúthalion could translate his leer into words, Thranduil cleared his throat. "How did you come by the arrow?"

"I talked to people, I told you." She smiled and covered Cúthalion's other hand with hers. "They retrieved the arrow when the dragon's corpse started falling in on itself. But if they venerate the Black Arrow and the dead dragon, then they also have to acknowledge that Da can make demands of them."

"You fabricated a claim." Thranduil huffed an only semi-voluntary laugh. Despite all the danger to which she had exposed herself and those who had gone with her — including her infant son — that was a cunning tactic.

At the same time Dáin's laugh was loud from the other side of the table. "You little minx! My Lady of the Lake."

The arrow in question leaned, still wrapped in its hides, against a wall, waiting for the King of Dale to return and take possession of it once more.

Sigrid's smile turned wider, then she shrugged. "I am the daughter of the dragonslayer."

And that was truly the gist of it. The details that Thranduil learned later were more complicated, but it came down to the fact that Sigrid had convinced the new Master and the citizens of the town on the Long Lake that they would be better served joining the Kingdom of Dale. She had baited them with economic perks, too, but the true claim had been the dragon and the Black Arrow, without which the new town would not exist. In the end she had even gotten them to sign  
a proper contract, detailing the economic and social consequences. All in all an admirable feat, but if what Bard had initially said in jest last winter was true, then she had been thinking about it for over six months. If there was one thing Sigrid was good at, it was scheming. Thranduil hoped that she wouldn't take it too far one day.

"You are indeed," he murmured while Dáin went on about how now it would make sense to repair the Wind Lance once more. According to popular lore the race of dragons was no more, but Bard would probably still appreciate the sentiment. 

Subsequently they didn't see much of Dáin the following days, except when he came to check the progress on the dig. When Thranduil remarked on it, Sigrid shrugged while helping Girion to balance in a sitting position, at which he clapped his hands and laughed. 

"Dáin keeps a pretty close eye on things here, for now. He offered Da and Bain the protection of the Mountain if we ever needed it." Her expression turned into a smirk. "I don't think it has anything to do with your little squabble."

He shot her a glance that she pointedly ignored and he decided he had better things to do with his time than argue with Sigrid.

~*~

Six more days passed until the lookout on the walls called about troops from south-east. Even accounting for slow marching pace, it was taking a long time and the small frown on Sigrid's brow told him he also noticed this. Thankfully Eryn was off playing with her friends and Cúthalion had volunteered to stay with Girion at the palace.

Finally, the vanguard came into view, Bard with Aldarion on his right, Lucan on his other side. Bard looked bad; drawn and pale, covered in grime and dark spots on his breeches that might have been blood. Upon closer inspection, they probably were blood. Feeling movement next to him, Thranduil reached out and grabbed Sigrid's wrist before she could storm forward. "Give him the time," he warned and felt the muscles in her arms cord with tension.

The closer they came, the clearer it became that Bard was barely keeping in the saddle. After long minutes the horses came close enough and Thranduil let Sigrid go. She was at her father's side in an instant and when her hand touched his leg she pulled it away as if burned. "Da! Da is that blood? Where's Tilda?"

"Yes," Bard answered, voice strong but strained. "That would be blood. Your sister—"

But at that moment Tilda appeared from the pulk of soldiers behind him and went to hug Sigrid the way she had done when she was a little girl. "Da wouldn't let me ride up front."

"Better that way," Sigrid murmured, momentarily distracted. 

Meanwhile Bard caught Thranduil's eyes and what was written there made Thranduil step up to his left, Sigrid trying frantically to make eye contact across the horse's neck, but Tilda was talking quietly to her at the same time. Glancing at the sisters briefly, Thranduil tried to get Sigrid to calm down, but to little avail. Aldarion had dismounted by now and put a gentle hand on her shoulder to not make her do anything rash. In his heart Thranduil thanked his son and focused on Bard. He was weaving a little in the saddle and clearly was holding on by sheer will alone. They were in plain sight of half the city, and Thranduil pressed his lips together. This wouldn't do. 

He stepped up to Bard's horse and took firm hold of its bridle. "Hold on," he told him and Bard swallowed, nodded and tightened the hold he already had on the horse's mane. Thranduil stroked the horse's muzzle and promised it extra oats and apples if it gentled its gait further as they walked the streets of the city. Unaccosted but by some mildly worried glances from citizens, they made their way to the palace. Aldarion was following along, keeping a tight hold on Sigrid once more. The Elvish guards were keeping the people away, talking quietly to them and convincing them that they would be informed in due time what was the matter with their king, but that for now he obviously needed some space.

"Come on," Thranduil murmured and touched Bard's left leg where the blood had dried and made the fabric stiff, just where the surcoat would gape. Worry threatened to close his throat when the skin was too hot underneath and Bard groaned quietly in what might have been pain, but kicked his feet out of the stirrups. Thranduil could probably have pulled him out of the saddle, but he didn't know to what extent Bard was hurt and he didn't want to make it worse. "What happened?"

"Alfrid," Bard pressed out. "He got lucky. Once. He'll never be lucky again." He leaned forward and finally convinced his right leg to move and dragged it over the horse's rump, careful not to kick the animal. It was slow, for a dismount, and looked tortured while Thranduil steadied his hip, making sure to prevent any falls. When Bard was ready, he unceremoniously dropped from the saddle and Thranduil caught him, taking his weight when he sagged. The smell of sickness enveloped them, and the way Bard let himself be supported like this made Thranduil tighten his grasp and pull him closer. For now the warmth of his body — even if it was slightly too warm — was reassuring and tangible in Thranduil's arms. Bard cursed up a blue streak, ending with, "Should have finished him when I first had the chance and never pulled him out of that troll."

"Da, don't say something like that," Sigrid admonished, eyes wet with unshed tears. She had come over to them and reached out to touch her father's shoulder, then wrapped her arms around his neck, and while it was a little awkward — with Thranduil still holding his entire weight — somehow it worked. Tilda stood by and breathed a heavy sigh of silent relief.

"Don't worry, it's just a scratch," Bard told her. "I just need some sleep."

"Shut up, Bard," Thranduil ordered, letting his anger seep into his voice. Whatever had happened, it had not been what was planned for this expedition, and even Aldarion had not thought it necessary to inform him ahead of time.

That earned him a pained grin and Bard resting his head briefly against his chest. "Just give me a hand."

The horses were being led away by Lucan, and Thranduil helped Bard make his slow, torturous way out of the courtyard and into the building. Bard's breath came in pained exhalations through his teeth and his heart was beating fast, though at the very least not laboured. That was one encouraging sign and marginally it lifted Thranduil's heart. Still their progress was slow and Sigrid tried to help but it was actually making it harder until Aldarion eventually pulled her away. 

The stairs to the upper floor, once they were actually inside, would be a problem. Thranduil sighed as he contemplated the wooden staircase, feeling Bard shift against him. "I have a thought about carrying you."

"Don't you dare," Bard groaned, but there was a little laugh somewhere in there, which at least meant it wasn't a lost cause. 

Somehow they managed to make it into the bedroom, Bard sweating profusely with exertion and pain, skin even paler than it had been before. He quivered a little as he sat on the bed, trying to rid himself of his clothes but gave up, breathing heavily. Closing his eyes, he tried to regulate the air he took in, seemingly centring himself. Thranduil swallowed against the dread slowly rising his chest and instead stroked sweaty hair off Bard's forehead, then cupped his face, trying to give warmth to his clammy skin.

"What happened?" Thranduil instead asked briskly, but he kept his hands gentle as he loosened the clothes Bard was wearing. By rights they should cut them off, but Bard would never suffer that and Thranduil would never hear the end of it. At the same time this way had the advantage that Thranduil could check him for injuries. He had to still his nerves to prevent Bard from noticing that indeed he was worried, but then Bard closed his eyes and some of the tension left him. 

"Alfrid was never good with a sword and in all the years that hasn't changed. I guess when going against someone who actually knows what he's doing the fool is in luck, sometimes." He let Thranduil take off his tunic to expose skin pale sheathed in cold sweat, but hale. Bard gestured. "Got me in the thigh. And then he got the horse and it threw me. I think I scared Aldarion with all the blood."

"As you would," Thranduil murmured, skimmed his hands over his torso anyway to be sure. He knew Bard's body, though usually he preferred to be with him under more comfortable circumstances. No more injuries came to light and Thranduil felt himself relax a fraction, though there was still the clearly infected wound in the thigh to deal with. "Why didn't you let him do something about it?"

"I did," Bard answered but it ended in a hiss when Thranduil tried to get off his trousers, but helped by easing his weight first on one buttock, then the other. "I think it got infected, I just really wanted to get back."

Thranduil pressed his lips together and shot him a glance telling him exactly what he thought of that. Sometimes Bard was a fool. Elvish healing or no, the body still required time to recover from ordeals like that. He saved his criticism for a later point and took a look at the wound on Bard's left thigh. Through his left thigh. It was indeed infected, oozing pus and cloudy fluid and making for a pungent mixture of sickness. At least it hadn't reached the bloodstream and his heart yet, though that was the only consolation and Thranduil wanted to kick him in frustration. "You _think_? What about Alfrid?"

"Lucan lopped his head off as if it was nothing." Bard grimaced at the memory and sighed in relief when he settled back. "From what I remember the Rohirrim cheered. I could be mistaken; I was on the ground trying not to bleed out."

In the end, no matter how much time Lucan spent with Aldarion, he would always be the descendant of a warrior race, socialised with tales of heroics. The blood running in his veins was that of many generations of warfare against those who would see his people rather dead than alive. It should not surprise him that Lucan would solve that sort of problem the way he had, asserting his position among his own people in the same instance. As an exiled bastard of Rohan's king, that was all he could do unless he sought to challenge his half-brother's position, which did not seem likely.

"This requires cleaning and then we'll need some athelas," Thranduil told Bard, effectively ending the conversation. They'd have words later, but for now what would help the man in front of him most was rest. Thranduil let out a slow breath as he watched Bard, who tried to find a comfortable position. A moment later he gave into the urge and cupped Bard's face once more to drop a gentle kiss on his lips that barely lasted a heartbeat. Afterwards he felt a little more settled. 

Sighing against his lips, Bard nodded. "Your people have been growing tons of it."

He was about to say something else when a knock sounded and Sigrid stepped in, a basin from which steam was rising in her hands. "Can I come in?"

"Perfect timing," Thranduil announced and let his hand once more rest on Bard's shoulder for a brief moment before making for the door. "I need to speak to Aldarion."

"Don't be mad at him," Sigrid warned him. She, too, was pale and visibly trying to pull herself together. "Da is stubborn."

As if Thranduil didn't know that. He gave her a lopsided, quickly aborted smile and went downstairs, shaking his head. When he arrived in the kitchen Aldarion seemed to be expecting him already, for their gazes met for the briefest moment the instant Thranduil's feet hit the bottom of the stairs. Aldarion touched the sleeve of Lucan's coarse travel tunic and gave it a light tug, which stopped the quiet conversation between them. After a last glance and a nod the Rohir left, guiding Tilda — who had lingered in the kitchen — gently by one arm. 

"I was never very good at healing," Aldarion started and leaned his shoulder against one wall.

Sighing, Thranduil shook his head and went to wash his hands. "Which is truly surprising, considering you are usually so far away from civilised society." He faced his son and shrugged. Contrary to what Sigrid seemed to think, he didn't have a bone to pick with Aldarion over this; he could only act when Bard was cooperative. "What happened? Aside from the wound, I saw it."

"The village where this Alfrid … ruled is generally peaceful, like their neighbours. I think the people thought him pretty ridiculous, and it was just him and a few thugs." Aldarion shook his head. "They confronted us, and even I can hardly tell you where the sword came from. The next moment it was stuck in Bard's leg where the armour didn't cover it, he was on the ground and Alfrid had lost his head. Literally."

"Lucan, I heard."

Aldarion smirked with pride but refrained from commenting, then sobered. "The other Rohirrim gave the thugs a choice, either to surrender or be put to the sword as well. You can imagine what came from that. I should also tell you that Tilda at no point was in danger, she remained safely among the soldiers."

"Which irked her to no end, no doubt."

"Naturally." Aldarion pushed away from the wall and went to fetch a drink for himself. "The end result is that Dale owns a few more villages, which I'm not so sure is advantageous because the places are tiny and need to be protected. I did for Bard what I could, but that man is as stubborn as the dragon in that lake was."

Thranduil snorted and was interrupted by Eryn, who stormed into the room. "Grandda is back?!"

"Yes, Princess," he told her and bent down to pick her up and she smiled hugely at him. "But he is exhausted and needs some sleep. How about you play with him tomorrow?"

She seemed to think about that for a moment, and from the corner of his eye he saw that Aldarion brought something in from the window. Then she tilted her head and sighed dramatically. "All right. Where is Nana?"

"How about I send her to you and you distract your Nana a little?"

Eryn nodded vigorously. "Ada is looking for her, too. Girion is hungry."

"Well then," he told her and set her down. Aldarion handed him sprigs of athelas with a shrug. It was such a frequent remedy in the king's household that it was grown outside the windows. "Eryn, have Aldarion tell you how your Uncle Lucan slew the monster."

"Yes!" Eryn exclaimed and went to pull on Aldarion's leg. "Please, Uncle Aldarion, now!"

"Little menace," Aldarion chided her affectionately and Thranduil turned around again and made for the stairs. 

His heart beat a little harder as he ascended the stairs again, anticipation unknotting in his stomach. While rationally he knew nothing would happen to Bard now, Thranduil felt better being at his side where he could have an eye on the stubborn mule. It was a worry that touched something deep within his core that Thranduil didn't want to examine too closely. He opened the door to their bedchamber quietly and took a calming breath when he saw Bard's prone form on the bed.

Thranduil had been on enough campaigns to be used to the smell of them, an indescribable mix of horses, unwashed bodies, latrines and cooking. Yet what he smelled this close to Bard was all that and the reek of congealed blood, sickness and infection prevalent after any battle. Thranduil remembered commanders going around the battlefield hurrying Elves and Men along when injuries would mean prolonged suffering and eventual death. He had seen those tasked with healing in surgical tents press hands over mouths and noses, when all hope was lost. Too many deaths. He refused the images to resurface in his mind. This was Dale, not a battlefield with no hope of reinforcements and relief.

Sigrid had dragged a low stool over to her father's bed and watched him intently, basin and rag discarded to the side. Bard was apparently sleeping, eyes closed and breathing still a little fitful. 

Studying her for a moment, Thranduil eventually went and touched her shoulder. "Sigrid. You have two children who need you."

"I can't leave him here." She reached up and squeezed his hand, tears standing in her eyes. He squeezed back, but still made her get up. 

"You, you can. And you will." He led her to the door with gentle force. He understood; Sigrid had been old enough to see her mother die and remember it. She had been the one to take care of her siblings and also her father for most of her life, and now she was forced to abandon one of these responsibilities. Perhaps her father's injury finally made her understand the risk she had taken by going to the Long Lake. At the same time nothing would be gained by her neglecting her children, and Thranduil would not let her do that. "Rest assured that I will look out for him now."

She was still fighting with herself when he closed the door on her, preventing any more arguments. Then he went to the small wet room adjoining the bedchamber, dumped the contents of the basin and refilled it with hot water. Now he was beyond glad he had convinced Bard to tap into the geothermal springs and have hot water running in the palace. It was not quite boiling, but more than warm enough for his purposes. He collected a fresh scrap of fabric and threw the athelas into the water to let it steep for a few moments. 

In the meantime, he went back and sat on the side of the mattress before he noticed that Bard was watching him. "Awake after all?"

"Only since just now," Bard said hoarsely and blinked a few times. His hand on the cover brushed Thranduil's and he squeezed it briefly. Then Bard sniffed. "Athelas?"

Thranduil nodded and pushed the covers away. The wound had been cleaned but still looked angry and red, barely healed and seeping cloudy fluid. The skin was hot to the touch and clearly sensitive, judging by the hiss from Bard when Thranduil touched it with only the pad of a finger. Under other circumstances this was a wound that even now might prove to be fatal. "You should have told Aldarion."

"It wasn't that bad until a few days ago and then I didn't want to stop." The constant motion and sweat from riding could not have been good for the healing process indeed. Thranduil shook his head in exasperation and started dribbling the athelas-infused water on the wound. Bard hissed in pain and squirmed, but Thranduil couldn't stop now and clamped a hand on his calf to stay him. He put the rag down and started pushing power into the feverish flesh and forcing the infection out. The wound would remain open and need to heal on its own, but at least what made Bard sick would be gone. Even though now it would take far longer than it had initially, the muscle and flesh needed to knit together properly and that would take time.

He repeated this several times. At some point Bard's eyes started to drift shut again and his breathing evened a little more. Thranduil finished, set the basin aside, and for a moment he merely sat there, watching as Bard's chest rose and fell in the regular rhythm of almost-sleep, listening to the beat of his heart. Too close. If Bard had not made it back alive, while Thranduil idled away in Dale… He refused to fathom it. Eventually he made to get up but was stopped by a hand around his wrist. "Should I get you Sigrid?"

"No," Bard told him. "Will you stay?"

Nodding, Thranduil settled again and with his other hand covered Bard's. They sat like that for a while, not speaking, until Bard dozed once more. In the meantime, Thranduil had opportunity to scrutinise his own reaction. He was aware of the inevitability of their situation — despite what Elrond might think — had been since the beginning and he had never truly questioned it, even if he had entertained notions of potential alternatives. But none of those were easily done, nor something Bard would want. At the same time, Thranduil had long decided he would take the time they had and accept its end, knowing it was still decades off. Even now it was, but he also wanted Bard hale and healthy, not to bring himself into this kind of danger. 

Granted, accidents happened as they always would, and no one had much influence on that. Still they were not a possibility Thranduil relished, nor one he wanted to prepare for.

Gently he extricated himself and stood. When Bard made a sound of protest he leaned in and whispered, "I am still here. Rest."

Then he disrobed, gentler to his own clothes than he previously had been to Bard's, and walked around the bed. He laid down, scooting closer and trying not to jostle Bard, and wanted to reach out. Bard seemed to sense his presence though, turned as much as he could and buried his nose in the crook of Thranduil's neck, hand resting on his chest. The position was mildly awkward for Bard and he would wake up with a crick in his neck, but Thranduil didn't have the heart to push him away. A puff of breath against his skin and then Bard sank into a more restful sleep. 

Rest was badly needed and Thranduil let him, rearranging their bodies and limbs eventually to make it more comfortable for both of them, keeping the wounded leg out of the way. They had always relished each other's company and taken comfort from it. This came natural to them, and if it helped the healing process, then all the better. 

The bells had tolled a few times and the day was waning by the time Bard stirred again, and then it was to stretch, settle more snugly against him, wince and ask quietly, "Were you worried?"

It didn't startle Thranduil, exactly, but he took a breath before answering and brushed his lips over Bard's cheek. "Giving me a taste of my own medicine?" Though of course he knew Bard would never have gotten injured on purpose, or sought danger for the sake of it. It wasn't in his nature, and they had settled that argument last year. Finally he allowed, "I hardly enjoy seeing you hurt."

Bard huffed a small laugh against his neck and then pushed himself up to look at him. "Well, neither do I." He kissed Thranduil briefly, a small reassurance, and shifted away with a sigh that turned into a hiss when he moved the leg. Thranduil propped himself up on one elbow and Bard took his hand. "How long?"

"That depends on how long you will be able to hold still and give it a rest," Thranduil told him, turning his hand to link their fingers, and received an eyeroll in return. "Stop pretending that the first thing you wanted to ask was not when you could get up."

"Would I ever," Bard responded, a little petulant maybe. Then he hesitated. "Will I be…?"

Thranduil read the question in his eyes, a silent worry that he would not even think, let alone verbalise. He squeezed Bard's hands. "As far as I am any judge, you will regain full mobility. If you let yourself heal. And maybe delegate these kinds of things to Bain in the future. One day you can tell Eryn and Girion where you got that nasty scar."

"What, and admit that I let myself get attacked by someone whose nose was perpetually brown and who hardly knew which side of a sword was the pointy end? I don't think so." He sighed and dropped his head back on the pillow. His complexion was better, though still pale, and he was obviously still exhausted. Thranduil stroked his face, the shadow of a bruise probably acquired during the fall. "How long are you staying?"

That was a good question. Thranduil had made provisions for his work to be brought to Dale when he had first learned Bard wanted him to stand in his position as consort for more than a few days. In the end he could keep that arrangement for as long as he was inclined to, but some matters needed to be settled before the winter and he needed to be in his own realm. "Preferably I would take you with me for the winter when I leave here." He leaned in and kissed Bard silent when the inevitable protest threatened. "I know it is probably too long off."

"Don't tell Sigrid, she might insist." Bard's tone of voice was long-suffering and when Thranduil raised his eyebrows in silent suggestion, he was the one to lean in for a kiss. "Don't you dare."

"Or what? You can barely hobble, however do you want to catch me?"

Laughing lightly, Bard shoved weakly against his shoulder. "I'm a fast hobbler," he said in mock-seriousness. If he could jest like that again already, Thranduil was not unduly worried. Then Bard sighed, it sounded tired and his eyes were drooping. "We both have work to do before the winter."

"Yes," Thranduil agreed and stroked his thumb over the pulse point in Bard's wrist. "But not now."

"No," Bard murmured and blinked, struggling to focus on him. "Did you hit me with your sleeping charm?"

He shook his head. "No need for that." But Bard was already too far gone to make sense of the words.

~*~

Over the following week Bard grew increasingly more … cranky. That was putting it mildly. Sigrid found far stronger words for her father.

"—pain in my backside," she ranted and slammed down the tray holding a rattling assortment of cups down on the table. Then she threatened, "I'll tie him to a horse and with a clap on the rump send him to Mirkwood until next year! Oh, I'm sorry, the _Woodland Realm_."

"And afflict him on my people?" Thranduil sing-songed with a smile, not taking his eyes off Girion who was playing with the strands of his hair, much like his sister had done when she was younger. 

Crockery clattered as Sigrid growled, "Elves are infinitely more patient than Men."

Clearly she had not met some of Thranduil's people. Then again, he was aware of few other people who might maintain a siege for centuries; the Dwarves, maybe, out of sheer stubbornness. Chuckling, he poked Girion in the stomach to make him laugh, the expected reaction of a ticklish child. He stretched out his hands, demanding to be picked up and Thranduil did him the favour, then the child made a babbling noise when he saw his mother. 

Thranduil went to her and handed her son over, figuring she would not be railing about her father when she had him in her arms. He understood that Bard was testing her right now, even though he might not want it, simply because he was laid up the way he was. During the day he would join them downstairs for meals, but other than that he was in bed, with his injured leg elevated, brooding. Bard was not good at being idle, probably because he'd never had much opportunity in the last decades. Periodically he would demand to be allowed to work which Sigrid, at least, severely vetoed. 

Those father-daughter arguments were something Thranduil very much did not involve himself in. He had a different … problem to deal with. After Bard had slept for two days and the wound had started healing, he had begun to take notice of Thranduil in his bed. While intimacy encouraged the healing process, any sort of jostling still caused extraordinary amounts of pain — not surprising, considering Bard had had his thigh pierced with a sword. This made Bard even more frustrated, because while hands and mouths could provide very pleasurable pastimes, now it didn't seem to be enough.

Usually this was not something that bothered them. They had spent countless nights together and done no more than sleep, but usually Bard didn't lie around in bed all day with nothing to occupy him. This frustration bred boredom, and boredom caused tension in the household.

Now Thranduil crossed his arms over his chest and told Sigrid conversationally, "He should hold court."

Her answer was a frown. "Do you really think that is a good idea?"

"It is important for the people to see their king. The Rohirrim can tell tall tales, but until everyone who might has seen him … there will always be other stories." Then he shrugged. "And it would give him something to do. Let him sit, keep the leg up and have people bring their petitions, then they can make their own stories."

Doubtlessly there were already at least three versions of the tale, not least because it had been preceded by Sigrid coming back with the Black Arrow. If anyone had had any doubts over the past decade of her abilities to hold her own, they had been disproven now at the latest. When Bard had been well enough to actually process just what she had accomplished, he had been too proud for words. Dáin's initial denomination for her — Lady of the Lake — had resonated with many people and many now called her that in whispers, the Dwarves far more openly. It was also the Dwarves who wanted to construct a new windlance for Dale, while the Black Arrow resided back in the armoury where Bard said it belonged. Many another ruler would have kept it in his house, displayed as heirloom to be proud of, but Bard was not much for such sentiment.

For a moment Sigrid seemed to consider, absently blowing a strand of hair out of her face and sticking it behind her ear when it wouldn't stay. Then she also shrugged. "It will at least stop him from telling me he's fine. Which he clearly isn't."

Thranduil couldn't help but smile indulgently. "You are very harsh with him."

"You should have seen him when we were sick as children. When he needed to go to work then…" She shook her head but laughed at the memory. "He's sawing on the branch he's sitting on, truly. I should tell him then?"

Court took place the next morning, and while not in the middle of the city as it usually would but on the palace grounds in a square that was more public than the private courtyard, it seemed to be going well. Or at least the few snatches Thranduil paid attention to seemed to be going well, as he used the time to concentrate on his own work and pen a few missives to be carried back. He also sent a bird to Duinhir to request a report that was overdue and inquire whether they would need reinforcements. His council had reassured him repeatedly they would get by without him and the courier had brought a message from Núneth saying to take his time and not hurry unnecessarily. Thranduil felt inexplicably betrayed. At least Feren was sending regular reports that all ran its due course.

People were apparently happy to see Bard, for even many who didn't have any grievances to adjudicate came just to speak a few words with their king. Already the Kingdom of Dale, if maybe not the city of Dale proper, was too big to enable this for most of his subjects, but Bard seemed quite happy and content anyway. 

Consequently he slept through the afternoon, but woke when Thranduil entered the chamber to retrieve a new set of robes before heading to the baths. He had sent Galion ahead to ensure the water was changed. Now that Bard was awake they might also make an effort to give him another change of scenery.

"I told Sigrid it would be all right if I could just do some work," Bard said, sounding a little smug and far too pleased with himself.

Snorting, Thranduil went to sit by his side and bent down to kiss him. "Keep telling yourself that. I worked all morning, too, and have not slept the afternoon away." He raised an eyebrow at Bard to tell him he cared little for more protestations of health, then pressed another kiss to his mouth. "Would you care to get a little more clean than is possible with water and towels?"

A groan answered him and Bard let himself fall back into the pillow. "Truly, you will let me get out of here again?" Then he frowned and opened one eye to glance at Thranduil. "I learned not to get open wounds wet."

"An open wound, is it? I thought it was just a scratch." Thranduil smirked and stood before reaching down to offer him a hand up. "It is also extremely unhealthy to wallow in your own filth. We shall add athelas to the water and call it medicinal. I also want to prevent pressure ulcers from spending all day in bed." 

He could feel Bard's glower on his skin as he steadied himself with a hand on Thranduil's hip. It was only half an excuse to stay close, which was something he was acutely aware of but didn't comment on. If nothing reopened Bard would have full use of the leg before the start of winter, which had to be good enough.

~*~

Aldarion seemed to have gotten into the habit of sitting on the walls that fortified the city, looking off into the distance, sometimes with Lucan at his side. When Thranduil came upon him now though he was alone and looked off into the west towards the woods where Thranduil always would welcome him home. He didn't know what his son was looking for though, since not even Thranduil could see the edge of the forest from here.

When Thranduil stepped towards him he glanced up briefly and nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to the horizon. It was after supper and the day had been warm; the slight breeze on top of the walls was downright refreshing. After a brief survey of the west, where Thranduil spotted nothing of interest, he said, "Duinhir says he is hearing rumours from the south that Mordor is active again. Which probably should not surprise us."

Once more Aldarion looked at him, then away again. "I had hoped to never hear anything out of Mordor again in my life," Aldarion admitted. "Is Duinhir all right? Has anyone heard from Bain?"

"Your brother will handle it." Though he had asked his eldest son to keep him apprised more closely than he had in the past few years. Duinhir was better situated for news as he was located where the two rivers met; trade and news came from the south and east. "I would not expect to hear from Bain again too soon. We should not worry. Do you still plan to stay for the winter?"

"Yes." Aldarion shrugged. "Dale is a good place and due to the exile and death sentence his father placed on Lucan, he has spent too much time away from his people. I would like to see Eryn and Girion grow up a little." 

For a moment Thranduil wondered whether Aldarion was finally ready to settle, but maybe it was just owed to the company they all kept in recent years. And Dale was welcoming to her allies. Lucan was clearly enjoying his newfound acceptance and Thranduil understood in the same way that Aldarion probably did. Because even though Aldarion wandered the world at his leisure, he had a home to return to. 

For far too long, that had not been the case for Lucan, and though he might take up their journeys again, for now he basked in being among his own, if maybe not quite at home. Once more Aldarion shrugged and asked, "When are you leaving?"

"I would hope soon." It was Cúthalion's voice and a moment later he stepped up towards them, smiling apologetically. "That is, if you still plan to take Bard with you."

"You're walking a very fine line to treason with talk like that," Aldarion warned, but Cúthalion shook his head and went to sit next to him. Indeed, Cúthalion was probably the one most in a bind here, between the needs of his wife and the demands of both of his kings, who also fashioned themselves as his fathers-in-law. Now he stretched out his legs and leaned back, precariously balanced over the parapet. Aldarion nudged him. "Is it that bad?"

"Bard is annoyed. Being able to do nothing but lie and sit and being waited on is making him quite ornery. That drives Sigrid crazy, because he is being a pain about it and you both know it." Cúthalion shot them a dark glance and Thranduil answered with a smirk. "And who is the one who keeps hearing about it?"

Aldarion leered at his old friend. "That's why I offered to take your watch rotations. Maybe Sigrid could use some more distractions."

"The Valar beware, have you seen the looks I get from half the population here already? I have two children under the age of five! At the least everyone seems to be duly entertained, in Dale and the Woods alike." Cúthalion huffed, largely in mock exasperation.

At that Aldarion laughed — knowing full well that it was the truth — and the two of them bickered for a while longer. In fact, Bard was now a lot more mobile than he had been even two weeks ago, but the wound was still sore, the muscle causing pain whenever it shifted and since he also refused to use a cane, even standing for an extended period was difficult. All of that combined with the fact that people — his daughters, Thranduil, various attendants — worked around him made the situation difficult to deal with. Bard, who had all the patience in the world when it came to others, had very little patience for himself. 

Eventually Thranduil cleared his throat and when the two other Elves had fallen into an amused silence said, "Entertainment value aside, did your wife kick you out of the house now?"

Normally the children would be going to bed around this time, and usually the two of them would handle it together, or if Sigrid was busy Cúthalion would do it alone. Now he wrinkled his nose and shrugged. "Dáin came by and I decided it would probably be prudent to remove any adult pointy ears from the vicinity." He exhaled in a sigh. "I guess they had something to discuss."

"Indubitably," Thranduil murmured but secretly wondered what the esteemed King under the Mountain had on his mind now that was urgent enough to make the trip. Then again, Dáin considered Dale an extension of Erebor and was very much taken with Sigrid and her children, especially since she let him tunnel under the city. The fact that half of the blood those children carried was Elvish did not seem to matter much as long as they were exposed to enough proper Dwarvish influence. 

From the corner of his eye Thranduil saw Aldarion and Cúthalion exchange a glance, a silent bit of communication. Eventually Aldarion asked, "Ada, what will you do?"

"I still have a kingdom to rule." Aldarion raised an eyebrow at Thranduil. "Lest my council imagine its omnipotence in my absence, I plan to return next week. At least until the Harvest Festival, but that is still too far off to stay." It had become tradition for the Elvenking — and indeed since Bard's coronation also the King under the Mountain — to celebrate the harvest annually in Dale. It strengthened the alliance between all three kingdoms in the eyes of their people and it was the one occasion a year when all enmities between Dwarves and Elves were put on halt. 

Cúthalion frowned, though Aldarion nodded his understanding. "Will you go alone?"

"I assume I would have to drag Bard along screaming."

"Please," Cúthalion groaned quietly and while Aldarion laughed at his clear suffering, Thranduil smirked. 

When they arrived back at the palace, Dáin was just exiting to leave and he huffed disdainfully at them. "If it isn't the three pointy ears! And here I thought you thrived in darkness."

"We awoke to starlight, you stumpy-legged gnome, not to the walls of an enclosed cave with stones threatening to fall on our heads," Thranduil shot back and could see Sigrid stand in the door, arms crossed over her chest and shaking her head in amusement. She quickly vanished inside again with her husband and Aldarion, leaving them to their exchange.

Dáin bellowed a laugh and then eyed Thranduil more closely. "I thought you would have taken him with you by now."

"Can you imagine him riding in a cart, voluntarily, because of something as trivial as an injury?" 

In answer Dáin inclined his head, barely, in acknowledgement. "Well you see to it, then. Until the harvest, wood-sprite."

"Imp," Thranduil answered and went to the palace.

When he entered through the kitchen door he found Bard leaning on the table, both hands braced on it, glaring at Sigrid with whom he was clearly arguing. Meanwhile Aldarion and Cúthalion stood by in the background, looking mildly uncomfortable. Bard heard the door close and looked up, and his glance turned harder still. "Do you also want me gone, put out to pasture, like everyone else? Even my allies? Have I finally outlived my usefulness?"

They had been through this argument. Though apparently not thoroughly enough.

"Da, I've told you, _because_ we still need you I want you to go for a few weeks! You will heal better in Mirkwood—"

"I will heal best _at home_!" he argued and she closed her eyes and let out a deep breath.

"And so we can all regain some equilibrium," she finished. 

From the back of the room Cúthalion implored silently upon Thranduil, while Aldarion looked faintly amused. Yet Thranduil understood what this was about on a level that Sigrid probably didn't. 

A door closed on the first floor and steps sounded on the stairs, Tilda appearing a second later. "Are you all out of your mind? There are two children trying to sleep upstairs, children with abnormally good ears, go and yell at each other somewhere else!"

That was as good a break as they were going to get and Thranduil threw a quick smile to Tilda, who scowled in the best imitation of her father. Before either of them could say something else he took two decisive strides and placed both hands on Bard's shoulders. 

"That is quite enough," Thranduil told him and pulled him upright, then marched him towards the door to the sitting room. He was mindful of the injury, yet still used more than gentle force and dug his thumbs into the muscles just shy of hurting. 

When the door closed behind him, leaving their mute family members to their own thoughts, he gave Bard a small shove to make him turn around, then pushed him backwards against the wall. It only took seconds and Thranduil made sure to keep a secure hold on Bard's clothing to catch him if he stumbled. A mask of outrage stared at him when they came to a rest, Bard breathing harshly, but Thranduil refused to be impressed by it. 

"What are you trying to do? Is this you trying to bring about your own doom? If that is the case, tell me now and I shall take my people and Sigrid with the children, and I will leave at once."

With someone Thranduil knew less well it might have presented a gamble, and even with Bard — with less of a threat — it might have. But Bard would never give up what was dear to his heart and what he held in his hands. The crown on his head, the gold in the Mountain, he cared for none of it; that could run through his fingers and he would never miss it. But his family, the safety of his children and his people, the roof over their heads, and what the two of them had built between them over the past decade was not something Bard would risk. 

Still Thranduil couldn't suppress a breath of relief when Bard slumped a little against his hold. "No, I— Don't you see?"

"What I see is you being too stubborn for your own good, and using the same arguments I thought you put to rest last year already." He pushed Bard into the wall hard enough to let him know he meant what he said. "What use would they have from retiring you? What good are you _dead_ , which is a very real consequence if the wound catches another infection or starts to rot? Your daughters have no hope of holding the throne before there isn't an heir that's nearing adulthood and Girion is far away from it! Both of them know this. No matter how much backing they get from Dáin or me, they have no hope of retaining a claim by themselves!" 

Strictly speaking that probably wasn't true, although there would be plenty of contenders once word spread that the throne of Dale was held in regency by a woman, no matter how formidable. Sigrid was not Haleth, who had lead her people through an Orc siege and brought them to safety during the First Age, and these were different, less desperate times. Even if the Dwarves and Elves both backed Sigrid, it would be a constant fight and fear of assassination, to the point where it would make more sense for Thranduil to annex Dale and make Aldarion and Lucan rule it until Girion was of age. And then he probably would have to go to war with Dáin.

Bard frowned. "Bain—"

"Is not here," Thranduil told him ruthlessly. "And if he were, Bain is not ready to be king. He can and he should lead, but to fulfil a kingship and live up to his family's past he is lacking experience, not just as prince but in his life. You should give him these responsibilities of riding off on campaign, but do you truly think he _wants_ to be king now? Bear that burden? At his age, would you have wanted to?"

For a moment Bard hesitated and then shook his head. "We didn't even have him when I was his age."

Thranduil held his gaze, tried to impress just how crucial it was. "They need you. Dale needs her king, and they need you healthy. Your children are not children anymore, but they need you nonetheless, your experience and your guidance." He slackened his hold, yet didn't let him go entirely. This was important and Bard, if still he didn't know this, needed to realise it. "You cannot risk yourself."

"That isn't my intention." No, it wouldn't be. Thranduil knew him well enough, and he knew the situation let Bard be a little irrational.

"I know that. Do not doubt your children. When they ask you to take a step back, it is not a criticism. It is not about you." He caressed Bard's shoulders through the tunic. "The pleasure of your company might be an admittedly selfish reason why I would not even think of fighting them on this."

Bard huffed a quiet laugh and let his head drop back against the wall in exasperation before looking at him. "Selfish, is it?"

"Very," Thranduil confirmed and let Bard break his hold and take a careful step into his space. He held still as Bard reached up to cup his face in both his hands, resting their foreheads together. When, after a moment, Bard lost his balance, Thranduil's arms went around him and he brushed his lips over Bard's cheek to then draw Bard in closer. "Very selfish. Have you considered I might also have a vested interest in your continued well-being?"

With a sigh Bard leaned his head against Thranduil's shoulder, hands on his hips. "I thought you would be the one—" he broke off, shook his head. What he had wanted to say Thranduil couldn't fathom, and he had a feeling he also didn't want to. When Bard spoke again it was with some doubt in his voice, "I thought maybe I rely a little too much on you."

Thranduil wanted to kick him, injured leg or no. "You are ridiculous," he told him and pushed him away enough to kiss him properly. Bard opened to him immediately and the grip on his hips got a little tighter. When they broke the kiss, Thranduil added, "Ten years and then you have too much time to think and that is the conclusion you come to? That is what I get for skipping a century of courtship with you." He paused, absently stroked a hand through Bard's hair and shrugged. "You do need a change of scenery. What do you say about trying to ride?"

Raising an eyebrow, Bard looked him up and down. "When you say riding you mean…?"

It almost startled a laugh out of Thranduil, but if Bard could joke like this he was indeed on the road to recovery. "I meant a trip to my realm until the harvest festival to give everyone a chance at some air." Sigrid would probably appreciate it, too. He smirked. "As for your other association, if you think you might be up for those kinds of acrobatics… I have a suggestion that might put less strain on that leg."

"Oh?"

"Maybe we should finish this discussion somewhere with a bed," Thranduil suggested, but claimed another kiss first. "Then I could demonstrate." 

When he leaned back Bard kept him in place for a little longer, lips and tongue anything but delicate, then sighed regretfully against his lips. He nuzzled him briefly and then said, "Go ahead. I think I need to speak to Sigrid." That made Thranduil raise both eyebrows in question; after all there were still the stairs to consider. "I'll manage," Bard told him. "Trust me."

At this Thranduil made a noncommittal sound and kissed him once more before making for the door. As he exited, five pairs of eyes — for Lucan seemed to also have joined proceedings now — were directed at him and he couldn't help but smirk. The two Elves had indubitably listened in, and the yelling could hardly have escaped the others. Still all of them looked anticipating. 

"Sigrid, your father would have a word with you," he told her and she nodded. As she walked towards the sitting room, she briefly stopped in front of Cúthalion and he squeezed her hand. They exchanged a few words that Thranduil could have caught if he had wanted to, but didn't care to. Then she pulled her husband along and when she reached for the latch the door was opened from the inside. 

Across the room Tilda rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically before she turned on her heel and walked out through the kitchen door, announcing, "I'm getting a drink. Lucan, Aldarion?"

Aldarion waved her off. "We might catch up with you later, we have an errand to run."

Shaking his head, Thranduil turned to retire upstairs, but caught from the corner of his vision that Lucan shot Aldarion a questioning glance. His son then leaned forward and pressed his lips to Lucan's ear, mouthing words too quiet even for Thranduil to catch and a huge grin spread on the Rohir's face.

On second thought, Thranduil did not truly want to know what passed between those two. Instead he bid them a pleasant night, which at least Aldarion returned with what might have been a leer, and went upstairs to wait for Bard.

Over the past weeks they had been cautious, even though Bard had been increasingly impatient the more he recovered. It was a treacherous recovery, as the flesh inside had only just started to knit together and he was already overdoing it, hobbling around whenever no one was looking. Thranduil hadn't wanted to undo all the good the healing had done just because they couldn't keep their urges in check. Truly, Bard was pushing for it _because_ he couldn't have it the way he usually would for aggravating the wound, and Thranduil had refused to give in. No matter that he, too, would have been happy to take their intimacy back to their normal level. 

For a few days now he had pondered whether they might not try something that eased the strain on the injured thigh and that still let them proceed — albeit more careful than usual. It would push the situation a bit further towards normal, something that was clearly necessary if tonight was any indication.

Bard was a long time in coming and by the time the door was pushed open, Thranduil had disrobed and made himself comfortable in bed with a book. When Bard hobbled inside, closed the door and briefly rested against it, he put the book aside but pointedly did not offer his help. Not only did he understand that Bard was too impatient with himself, but if he was too proud to use a cane or ask for help, Thranduil — or anyone else — could hardly force him. 

Bard heaved a few deep breaths and caught his eye, then shook his head. "I didn't tear anything. I think."

Rolling his eyes, Thranduil then caught the amused smile on Bard's face, who proceeded to take three almost normal steps and to sit on the bed. When he started to undress Thranduil rolled up onto all fours and made his way across the mattress, dropped a kiss on Bard's naked shoulder when he knelt behind him to his right. "You better had not."

"Would that hinder your plans?" Bard asked quietly and turned to seek his lips in a proper kiss, throwing his tunic in the general direction of a chair before getting rid of his breeches with careful movements.

"Profoundly so," Thranduil answered against his lips and scanned the injury, but the scab was still in place. All in all, Bard was healing better than Thranduil had initially expected; the infection hadn't returned and keeping movement to a minimum for the first few weeks with regular cleaning had made all the difference. Still, he would not risk anything now. 

He slowed the kiss, then broke it and pulled Bard back so he was leaning against his chest, one hand flattened on his stomach, the other stroking over his arm. Bard took a breath and relaxed against him, linking their fingers on his belly. "Is this part of the plan?"

Thranduil chuckled, turned his head to kiss behind his ear, then a few finger widths further down his neck. "Perhaps."

"Elves," Bard grumbled, "never a clear statement out of the lot of you."

"You keep saying that." He nipped the cartilage of Bard's ear in mild retaliation, which earned him a gasp, a muscle jumping in Bard's stomach. "Yet I believe we have been very direct with you and your family."

"Perhaps," Bard echoed and turned his head. The position was increasingly awkward though and Thranduil shifted out of the way. He wanted Bard on the bed anyway, and some manoeuvring put them side by side, Thranduil's hand teasing along the inside of Bard's uninjured thigh, which made him squirm. It was where Bard was particularly sensitive and the slightest touch tickled, so he shifted to get out of the way. "What do you think you're doing?"

Thranduil didn't let himself she shaken off though, but was careful not to make Bard move around too much. A flare of pain was the last thing they needed now to spoil the mood. "What does it feel like?"

"Like you're being too bloody careful," Bard complained and took a fistful of his hair and pulled lightly. "Come here."

This was not quite the way Thranduil had planned it, but then he'd wanted to take his time anyway. He dragged his hand up as he shifted and bent down for a kiss, on the way he stroked over Bard's groin, felt the blood rushing beneath his fingertips as Bard hardened and then back across the firm muscles of his stomach, over a nipple that drew up firm beneath Thranduil's touch. Bard sighed into the kiss, a small sound of pleasure as Thranduil rested his hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat underneath. 

"We talked about your continued well-being," Thranduil reminded him with a murmur. His hair had fallen around them, their eyes had locked onto each other. What he read there was largely stubborn determination, a trait he usually appreciated in Bard but that, turned on him, could be rather annoying. Mildly put. At the same time Bard's pupils were dilating with lust and a mirror of Thranduil's own emotions. Finally, Bard nodded almost imperceptibly, then raised his head and closed the distance between them. 

His hand wandered to the back of Thranduil's neck to hold him in place and the kiss grew more heated before Thranduil slowed it, then pressed his lips once more to Bard's and moved away. Bard protested with a sound deep from his chest, which Thranduil laughed at and brushed his hand over Bard's chest.

"Is this your plan?" It sounded a little strained, and Bard pushed up on his elbows, only to be pushed back down.

"No," Thranduil told him and nipped sharply at the juncture of neck and shoulder to admonish him to stay where he was, earning himself a little moan. "We will get there."

Bard held on to his forearm, dragged his thumb back and forth. "Truly? Because it doesn't feel like that."

Humming, Thranduil pushed against his collarbone with his free hand to keep him down. This had never been Bard's strongest trait. Especially in bed; their first night together had been a good indication for that already. Still he said, "Patience."

When the answer was a growl he could feel reverberating in Bard's chest, Thranduil grinned, then sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of a nipple. Not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to make him jump. Bard cursed in colourful expletives - some of which Thranduil would have to remember for later, as he was sure he could use them on the King under the Mountain. When he did it again and pinched the other nipple with his fingers, Bard moaned louder than before. 

"Bastard," he said huskily. 

With his tongue he soothed the skin, heard Bard's breathing accelerate, said, "I have my doubts about that," and went lower, kissing down his stomach. Bard still held on to his forearm, thumb now pressing into the muscle with arousal. Since it was Bard's left leg that was injured, Thranduil would need to climb over him to they could keep the injured left thigh out of the way. As he kissed and nipped along the muscles of Bard's abdomen, he wondered what to do about that. Absently Thranduil brushed his lips along the hairs trailing down from Bard's navel between his legs, then replaced his lips with his fingers, dipped lower and briefly stroked along the hardness of him to draw another dragged out sound.

"Thranduil," Bard complained, trying to sit up again to reach for him, but Thranduil pressed him back down. 

In answer to that protest Thranduil rested his chin on his hip and smiled up sweetly. "Yes?"

With a groan that sounded almost painful Bard dropped his head back and said to the ceiling, "If you keep this up much longer this is going to be over before it can get interesting."

"Oh, I think this is already very interesting," Thranduil told him in return, but merely pressed one more kiss to Bard's skin before pushing himself up once more. Bard's expression was mildly sceptical and it made Thranduil grin and kiss him again. He kept his hands to himself, though. 

"You know what I mean," Bard told him.

Humming Thranduil confirmed, "I do," kissed him again. 

Once more Bard complained, "Thranduil." With a mock sigh of resignation Thranduil sat up and swung a leg over Bard's hips; in immediate response Bard's hands went to his thighs as they usually did. "What do you think you are doing?"

Thranduil merely brushed his hands away and finished his climb to the other side of the mattress. "Making sure you avoid a setback and might be healed off in four weeks from now instead of ten," he answered and dropped a reassuring kiss on his lips. Bard didn't seem convinced, but he did turn on his side facing away from Thranduil when he pushed against him. "Trust me."

Their gazes caught briefly when Bard craned his neck, but then he relaxed and Thranduil dropped a kiss on his shoulder. He slicked his fingers and his hand trailed lightly down from shoulder over Bard's side, always letting him know where his attention was. Then the touches turned more intimate and Bard finally caught on to what he was doing. A small, "Oh", sounded from him and his legs fell apart a little more, keeping the injured thigh out of the way. 

It took a little adjusting, but still they made it work, even though it included a few false starts and bursts of laughter when it didn't _quite_ work out the way Thranduil had planned. 

Bard pushed back against him, his shoulder blade a hard edge against Thranduil's chest. Kissing his shoulder, Thranduil slid his hand down and sharply squeezed Bard's buttock, which earned him a pleased hiss. 

"I like this plan," Bard told him a little breathlessly, encouraging Thranduil to keep their rhythm when he slowed. While today wasn't the first time they'd ever done this, not only did they both prefer to be able to look at one another, they also still needed to be mindful of the injury.

Thranduil hummed in acknowledgement and reached for Bard's hand before burying his teeth in the juncture of neck and shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. In response Bard moaned and clutched his hand almost painfully. 

The world felt a little more normal and when he held Bard against him much later, when he tasted sweat when he dragged his lips along Bard's skin, he sighed contentedly. They'd need practice to find a better rhythm, but judging by the way he felt them both more relaxed it had been well worth it. 

Bard laced their fingers and tried to turn around, but then apparently stopped himself when he remembered. After some wordless grumbling Thranduil roused himself and climbed to Bard's right again, let him rest on his chest. "We should do that again. Soon."

With a chuckle Thranduil brushed some sweaty hair off his brow and kissed his head. "I think it was you who said something about not being up to that twice in one night. I have never complained."

"I'm sure my body could be convinced," Bard grumbled and then sighed, shifting more comfortably against him. For a while they were quiet, hands roaming in random touches that didn't aim at anything. At some point Bard rested his hand against Thranduil's stomach, then his head shifted and Thranduil knew that something was on his mind. A few moments later Bard said, "I still don't like it. It's as if I'm shirking my responsibilities, and what will everyone think if I leave yet again? Dale is not some tiny city anymore in the shadow of Erebor."

Sighing, Thranduil shook his head. One of Bard's most defining traits was his sense of duty and the acute knowledge of who depended on him. Yet the people of Dale would have more use of their king if he came back in full health in a few weeks than if he was ailing until the winter. But Bard didn't see that far and Thranduil had tried to make him see it, fruitlessly, so now it was time to simply confront him with the facts. He pushed him off and scooted down so they could look each other in the eye. "Would you rather be dead?"

Bard frowned. "Of course not. You make it sound to deterministically, as if it's one of the other," he complained. "I might as well heal this here — of course you should go if you truly have to — and do my duties and then come to you in winter. That's also a point I'm not entirely convinced of, but I see why it might be feasible."

Heaving another sigh, Thranduil pretended to consider. "Well, I guess without me here gangrene might not necessarily get you, but also no one is going to stop Sigrid from smothering you with a pillow." He received a dark glower in answer and chuckled, then kissed his forehead. "And I do have to, my council will already think itself omnipotent, I will not have that." Thranduil did not beg on principle, and he would not start now. Still he said, "Come with me. My people there have not seen you since you left in spring, they miss you."

A wordless grumble followed. "Even Dáin asked already why I haven't left with the pointy-ear yet."

"Even a Dwarf can see reason, amazing," Thranduil remarked dryly, but laughed quietly when Bard frowned even harder. He kissed him then to prevent any comebacks and Bard moaned into the kiss when he let his hand drift far down his stomach and beyond his navel again. It wouldn't lead anywhere, they both knew that, but it felt good for both of them so it didn't have to.

~*~

Despite some grumbling and continued futile protests, the next day they did manage to get Bard on a horse with much fewer problems than Thranduil had anticipated. Lucan had found a good natured palfrey for Bard, which made for smooth riding without much jostling. Even with that smooth gait Bard was exhausted and stumbled into bed right after arriving at Thranduil's halls. He did not even wake for supper. When Thranduil later slipped into bed beside him Bard shifted against him, though, and slung an arm around his waist. Thranduil kissed his head, his cheek, his ear before going to sleep himself.

When Thranduil breezed into the council session the next morning he expected some resistance, but his councillors were only regarding him with mild curiosity. 

"We did not expect you back so early, my Lord," Núneth told him and he raised an eyebrow in answer. "I assume you and Lord Bard will be in Dale for the Harvest Festivities?"

"With the usual contribution," he confirmed. The contributions of the Woodland Realm to the Harvest Festival in Dale usually consisted of a few barrels of wine and a food offering. For while Dale now produced enough to not only feed themselves and the Dwarves of Erebor and then some, all Elves of the Woodland Realm excluding whoever was on duty for the night were free to go. Usually it turned out only those with connections to Dale actually did so, a few hundred barely noticeable in the population of the city now, but Thranduil made sure to make up for what they consumed. It made for good neighbourly relations.

Núneth nodded. "And Lord Bard will be staying again this winter?"

"When hopefully the wound he sustained during the latest expansion of Dale has healed," Thranduil confirmed. He had resigned himself to his council being far too interested in his private affairs, though at least this way he could further Bard's already considerable reputation. It seemed to pay off when his councillors murmured among themselves. After a few moments he cleared his throat. "I appreciate you keeping me apprised about the situation during my absence. Let us proceed with today's meeting."

"Someone is busy," he heard from one corner of the room, but he ignored it for now. When he looked up he caught Núneth's smirk, very much not hidden from view. Thranduil didn't roll his eyes merely for the futility of it.

When he returned to the solar, Bard was flipping through a book. In the Woodland Realm he wasn't any more mobile than he had been in Dale, a fact that still ate at him and the reason why he still was not happy with his presence here. Thranduil had expected that, at least initially. The book in his hands was the bigger surprise.

"Have you found a use for my library after all?" he asked and gathered a drink for both of them. 

"This one has pictures," Bard told him. "Very detailed illustrations, in fact. I don't think even Elves have that many joints. I also doubt it's from your library, though now I know where you got that idea involving that large chest last winter." When Thranduil handed him a cup, he nodded in thanks and read the question in his eyes and handed him the slim volume. Thranduil took a sip before reaching for it, already having an idea what it might be. Bard continued, "Ithril brought it. She said now that I couldn't move I might find it helpful. And that she and Feren found it quite instructive. I didn't know the two of them were … involved."

"I think you and me and them might be the only ones to know," Thranduil told him and was torn between laughing and maintaining an only mildly interested expression when he found his suspicions about the book confirmed. A long time ago, even before Melian had cast her Girdle, when the world had still been at peace — or what seemed like never-ending peace at least — the Sindar had two things on their mind: work and play. At some point, someone had started to record many of the incarnations of play that couples might indulge in. The end result had been an ever expanding little book of more or less acrobatic sexual positions that was enthusiastically shared among the population of Beleriand. When the Noldor had eventually happened upon it, they had sneered at their — in their opinion — lesser cousins, but the Sindar shrugged and kept sharing. To Bard Thranduil said, "It is what it looks like, a manual."

He had known a few editions beside his own had made across the Misty Mountains and had been copied and re-copied and shared again, so that by now probably all of his people had a book in their possession. However, he had not expected one to make its way to Bard. 

"I can see that. And you didn't share," Bard told him in mock resigned complaint. Mischief glittered in his eyes, however, as he took a sip from his cup. 

Lips twitching, Thranduil set the book aside and took up Bard's free hand to kiss the palm. "I failed to realise," he said, kissed the pulse point and scraped his teeth lightly over it to feel that tiny shudder, "that you were bored by our time together."

"Oh certainly not that," Bard told him, caressing his cheek with his fingers and then gave him a light nudge to look up again. Then he leaned in and brushed his nose along Thranduil's before catching his lips in a brief kiss. "But a little variety could be … fun."

"Fun?" Thranduil asked, hovering above his lips, not moving even a finger's width. Usually it was an exquisite way to tease and draw things out, but he also knew that two could play that particular game. And right now Bard seemed to have decided was the right moment to. Thranduil still held his wrist loosely in his hand, stroked over the spot where the pulse beat closest to the surface with the edge of his nail, just enough not to tickle. He raised his other hand and traced the collar of Bard's thin summer tunic where it dipped down over his chest, a light and teasing touch. In answer Bard's breathing became momentarily audible, neck working as he swallowed. "I could show you … fun."

Grinning, Bard turned his head a little to give Thranduil better access to his neck, a clear gesture of encouragement. "Elves know a lot about fun?"

"We do live long lives," he pointed out and earned a laugh at that understatement. 

Then Bard gave in and closed the distance between them again, kissing deeply and shifting closer, knowing by now which movements might prove uncomfortable. Thranduil slid his hand to the nape of his neck to subtly change the angle and deepen the kiss. Breathing a little harder than usual, Bard eventually broke away, then kissed the corner of his mouth again. "I have a feeling we should take this somewhere else. And that we should bring that book."

With a dramatic flourish Thranduil pressed a hand to his heart. "Hearing you say those words, I shall almost get excited."

Bard laughed and leaned in to nip at his lips. "Get excited in a place we can lie down and not fall off, I have my doubts this bench qualifies."

"It is good to see you have gotten used to being king," Thranduil told him and waited to get off the bench until Bard had pushed himself up, gathering the book as instructed. In turn Bard shot him a glance but didn't seem to think it worth to comment. Thranduil grinned and kissed him once more in passing, a quick touch of lips, before they made their way towards the bedchamber. 

Later that day, it had to be coming close to dusk, he woke to Bard carding through his hair. "I should thank Ithril."

"She will only be smug about it." Untypically Thranduil lay left of him, and he reached out to gently touch the wound, still scabbed and with a scar beginning to form. He wondered whether Bard knew how close he had come to dying that day. Two finger widths further up and the sword would have severed the large vein that ran there, and he would have been beyond saving no matter how much healing anyone poured into him. Even Elven miracles had their limits, though thinking about it now made Thranduil want to pull him even closer.

Bard stilled his movement and with one hand reached for his and linked their fingers, squeezed them. "Typical Elvish behaviour then. Why don't they tell people? If you as their king know it means it's official, doesn't it?"

Shrugging, Thranduil shifted to make Bard take up the caress through his hair again. "I have found that being willing to give my people some leeway pays off. The Noldor have only gotten themselves into trouble with their strict interpretations of ancient customs. As long as no one falls into a jealous rage over someone else's choices, I do not see why it would be a problem."

After a moment of quiet Bard asked, "Does that happen? Among Elves?"

Thranduil snorted. "It is high time we talked about the history of my people." He kissed what skin he could reach, which happened to be Bard's hip. "If they think it right they will tell others."

With a sigh Bard fell silent, but he kept stroking through his hair. Thranduil considered pulling Bard down to him so they could go back to sleep when the movements suddenly stopped altogether and Bard said, "Do you think?" Thranduil hummed in question and looked up when nothing was forthcoming and Bard's expression spoke of consternation. He rested his chin on Bard's hip and sought out his eyes. "Do you think Cúthalion has a copy of that book?"

He most certainly did. Yet Thranduil would not tell that to Bard, because it had him clearly worried for no reason. Instead he laughed quietly and pushed himself up, pressing kisses to Bard's skin as he went — his stomach, his chest, shoulder, the bruise he had sucked into his neck, his cheek — ending with a brief peck to his mouth to look him in the eye. "Bard. Do you truly want to know if he does?"

A chagrined grimace gave him the answer before the man himself could. "Probably not."

He kissed Bard again, with more commitment this time. He had slept too long next to Bard over the past weeks without being able to fully enjoy it over worry and being careful of the injury, he planned to make up for it at least a little until the Harvest Festival. "Keep that in mind," he murmured and prevented any answers by sealing their mouths together again.

~*~

Dale's great hall was decorated with garlands of autumn leaves and the blossoms of the last of that year's flowers. A fire was lit in the large fireplace and had been burning for a good part of the day to give warmth to the place, as the autumn had come with its characteristic chill to blow away the summer warmth. The days might still be pleasant, but the nights cooled down considerably and the thick stone of the building gave off its own chill. Lamps of Elvish design, placed strategically around the walls, illuminated the cavernous hall almost as bright as day.

People were milling around everywhere and for a long time now the hall had not been large enough to hold all the people who had settled in Dale. After a few years the feast had spilled outside, torches and lamps lighting the streets where people ate and drank copiously. The guard for the night usually consisted of volunteers, as no one should be kept from the festivities if they truly wanted to attend. This year delegations from Dale's new territory had also been invited to join and to see just how willing and able Dale was to accommodate the various cultures living within her walls.

Thranduil surveyed the crowd in the hall, seeing Sigrid and Cúthalion dancing with each other, smiling brightly. The children of Dale were being looked after in groups, so most parents got an evening to themselves. Off in one corner he saw Aldarion speaking with Dáin and one of the Dwarves who was one of the engineers overseeing the construction beneath the city.

A few strides away to his left, Lucan made his excuses to the Rohirric guard he had been talking to and walked towards Thranduil. He raised his ale tankard in a silent toast and Thranduil nodded. Neither of them said anything for a while, though he saw the young man frown at where Aldarion was still talking to the King under the Mountain. 

Rumour had come out of the south to the Woodland Realm a while ago, so Thranduil eventually said, "I hear King Fengel is ailing."

It earned him a measuring glance from Lucan, which told him that indeed the Rohir had already been aware of that. After a few moments he nodded. "We also heard that."

"What will your people do?" Thranduil had asked the same question of Bard when they had first heard of it, and apparently some of the Rohirrim had come to him a year ago and asked if they would be allowed to stay beyond the time of their exile. But Lucan was Rohirric himself, and while unlike them he chanced death if he returned across the borders of that land, he might have more insights into what was being discussed within that community. Especially now that he had lived among them for most of the year. 

Lucan exhaled and glanced down into his tankard. "They stopped being my people a long time ago, my Lord. I do not have a people anymore. King Fengel made sure of that by sending me alone into the wilderness and giving the order for my execution upon sight. If not for Aldarion… But I'm not to be counted among them anymore."

"You know that is not true." When Lucan looked up at him he first took a sip of his wine. "The Rohirrim have accepted you within their midst, have they not?"

"I am their king's exiled bastard." The words had stopped sounding bitter years ago, though Thranduil assumed they still stung. "They tolerate me, I have no claim on being one of them."

For a long moment Thranduil studied Lucan, whose expression was almost neutral, though Thranduil could see that it upset him, too. From all Thranduil had seen over the past decade, his assumption wasn't true. Most of the Rohirrim understood that Lucan was in even more of an impossible situation than them, and bastard or not, he had been raised among them and they accepted him as one of their own, even let him lead them on campaign. The fact that Lucan would not see this for himself was by far the bigger concern. So Thranduil told him, "You are a fool."

It startled a laugh out of the Rohir. "Aldarion says the same." He grinned and shot a glance to where Aldarion was still talking to the Dwarves. "Over the last decade the Rohirrim have settled. I don't doubt some will go, Rohan is our home and even the wide fields around Dale will never compare. Yet their children have been raised here, some of them have taken spouses here they will not want to leave and the horses breed well, the trade is even better. I don't think Bard needs to worry."

Eyes narrowing, Thranduil asked, "What is Aldarion to you?"

"My shield brother," Lucan told him straight away, as if it was the most natural thing for him. Maybe it was, but Thranduil also knew Rohirric culture well enough to be aware that this seemingly simple turn of phrase could encompass a lot of things. Many shield brothers he had met over the ages had been closer than spouses and even true siblings. He now knew no more than before he had asked. 

Eventually Thranduil shook his head and decided that despite that non-answer, Lucan was upset enough and deserved kindness. "Then you know where you belong."

A small half-smile spread on his face with some hesitation and he glanced towards Aldarion. "Maybe you are right."

"I have been alive since the First Age, I speak with the authority of experience." Thranduil made it sound intentionally arrogant and Lucan rolled his eyes in a way that reminded him a lot of Bard, and muttered something about Elves. From across the hall Aldarion suddenly caught Thranduil's eye and frowned. To tease him, Thranduil smirked, but to Lucan he said, "From what Bard has said, Dale will always welcome the Rohirrim."

"That is reassuring to know, my Lord." Lucan sounded faintly amused now, then bowed and took his leave. Aldarion still frowned and seemed to make his own excuses to meet up with his … shield brother. 

Rolling his eyes, Thranduil turned only to find the glint of Bard's crown in front of him. The gold and the gems caught the light and broke it wonderfully. Every time Thranduil saw it, he was impressed with the handiwork of the Dwarves. But Bard brought more than glamour, as he handed him a fresh cup of wine and then stroked his hand down Thranduil's arm, lightly cupping his elbow. 

The wound was almost healed by now. Repeated bouts of healing had hurried the process considerably, though Bard also had finally slowed down a little. An impressive scar was beginning to form, its edges smooth but coloured in an angry pink that would only slowly fade as months and years passed. Inside the muscle was still knitting together, invisible due to the new skin, and hampering proper walking. But at least Bard was only slightly limping, partially caused by pain from the injury, partially by long disuse of the leg. Yet after prolonged standing he was in a fair amount of pain. 

They had ridden in for the feast the day prior to give Bard the chance to rest up and spend some time with the family. Eryn had occupied them most of the last day and today as they had looked at the preparations and Bard had been welcomed by his people with open arms. The decision of whether Bard would accompany him back to the Woods after the feast had not yet been made. While Thranduil would prefer it, much was still to be done in both their kingdoms and it might be easier for Bard to stay and only return to him at the onset of winter. 

"Whoever is running your household would be appalled at you serving me," Thranduil admonished gently.

Bard shrugged. "Let them. As if you haven't been serving me wine for a decade."

"Not at official functions." Still Thranduil smiled with amusement and toasted him, even as Bard shifted off his bad leg. "Would you like to sit?"

"Like to, no," Bard told him with a sigh. "But I probably should." With a nod Thranduil skimmed his hand lightly down his back, barely even touching, to then guide him with a hand in the small of his back towards their seats. Bard didn't protest, his limp mildly more pronounced than a few hours ago. He looked around the hall, paying close attention to whether people seemed satisfied. Eventually his glance also landed on Aldarion and Lucan, who stood talking intently off towards the long hall. Bard caught Thranduil's eye over his shoulder. "Do you think Aldarion also has a copy of the book?"

Thranduil couldn't suppress the involuntary snort that escaped him. For Bard, he knew, the matter had never even presented itself as a question; when Aldarion and Lucan had ridden into Dale the first winter when space had still been scarce he had put them in a room together. When that hadn't elicited protests he had naturally assumed they habitually shared blankets and never touched the matter again. But Thranduil knew it was not that simple. "You know well enough Aldarion travels light."

"It _is_ a rather slim volume, compared to the rest of your library."

The teasing tone was not lost on Thranduil. In answer he increased the gentle pressure against Bard's back and said, "Well, maybe we should distribute copies in Dale. I am confident it would do wonders for your population density."

Eyes wide Bard shot him a glance. "My people would do nothing but shag their brains out if we did that."

"The harvest is in, the winter will be cold…" Thranduil trailed off, smirked in answer to the even wider eyes that quickly narrowed. It was likely copies had already made their way around Dale, considering how many Elves had come to live in the city and wedded mortals … or each other. All told, it was a bit of a surprise that Bard had never come across it, but then he didn't tend to meddle in his citizen's private lives unless it was to resolve a dispute or hear petitions.

"Don't you dare," Bard threatened and let himself down into his seat. 

"Or what?"

Sighing, he leaned his head into the high-backed seat, looking more in pain than Thranduil had bargained on. As if sensing his concern, Bard glanced up at him, but shook his head in denial of something that hadn't even been offered. "I'm sure I will think of something." He took a breath. "I talked to Sigrid earlier, and I think I will stay here until the first frost at least. I need an accounting of the harvest and we need to decide how to proceed come spring, what might need to be fixed during the winter."

Briefly Thranduil frowned, but then inclined his head. "Do as you see fit."

Yet Bard once more shook his head and reached out to covertly tug on the sleeve of Thranduil's tunic. "You know this is easier."

"It hardly means I have to like it," he countered and rested his hand briefly on Bard's shoulder before moving out of his space. He would have preferred to bring Bard back with him, selfish reasons as much a factor as the wish to make him rest a little more. "Try not to move too much, you will be stiff tomorrow."

"I'll show you stiff," Bard murmured and Thranduil laughed before moving away to give some of the people skulking around the chance to speak with their king. 

No sooner had he stepped away far enough to be out of mortal earshot when several men went up to Bard who had been pointed out to him before as being from villages around the Celduin, annexed during the most recent campaign. The din of the hall prevented him from hearing what was being said. Instead he thought about going outside to for some fresher air when he heard Bard laugh out in genuine surprise and start to argue in the most regal tone he could affect. And even though Thranduil caught the words _Elvenking_ and _obligation_ , he was too distracted by Feren hurrying towards him with quick steps.

"My Lord," his guard captain greeted him sternly. "We have, I imagine, a situation."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him. It didn't seem to be an emergency, and Feren seemed to be as composed as ever, yet also, for lack of a better word, fidgety. Feren was one of the most composed guards Thranduil had ever trained, fidgety was not a word that usually described him. 

A few moments later Feren led him outside and to the palace, which had been declared off limits to the populace for the duration of the feast, easily cordoned off by a few patrols due to its strategic location. "Feren, what is the meaning of this?"

"That is what I would like to know," Feren returned over his shoulder and walked past the patrol line into the square where Bard had held court several weeks ago. Large sacks were stacked there two high and three deep in a row, many strides along one wall. Ithril stood with her arms crossed over her chest in front of the bags, studying them, but glanced up when she heard them coming. She nodded at Thranduil and spared Feren a smile, who returned it before saying, "One of the townspeople who originally came from Esgaroth showed this to us and told us to guard them with our lives, as King Bard would need them."

"Since when do you take orders from random citizens?" Thranduil inquired. "Have you checked what might be inside?"

"That seemed a little too much initiative," Ithril interjected, but shrugged and knelt to open one of the coarsely woven bags and peered inside, then stretched out one hand and took something out. When she held out her hand for them to inspect it she pronounced, "Hops."

Only a long lifetime of training let Thranduil keep a straight face. "And I imagine a few of those bags will be grain," he told the other two Elves, who shot him confused glances. Then they looked at each other and shrugged. Meanwhile Thranduil shook his head. Indeed, Bard had mentioned something about ale in the Woodland Realm this winter, but this seemed to go a bit far. "Keep them in your sight. We would not want these to go amiss."

"My Lord?" Feren asked in disbelief, though Ithril put a hand on his arm to stay him, then curled in her fingers to make it a warning grip when more steps sounded on the paved floor. 

A moment later Cúthalion came up to them in an unexpected family gathering. Ithril loosened her grip on Feren's arm but left her hand there, which was something her brother doubtlessly noticed if his lingering glance was an indication. Then, when Thranduil cleared his throat, he shook his head, _later_. "I see you found the, well, offering."

"Has Dale taken to sacrificing to the power of ale?" Ithril asked with a frown.

"When has it not?" her brother returned and they grinned at each other. 

Feren meanwhile took a clearly uncomfortable step closer to Thranduil. Doubtlessly Feren was one of his best guards in a long time, but apparently this constellation put fear right into his bones. Smart Elf.

"I take it the people of Dale want their king kept in the highest spirits?" Thranduil interrupted this display of familial despondency. 

In response Cúthalion tilted his head. "This whole _kingdom_ was mildly, shall we say, appalled that no ale is to be obtained in all of what they call Mirkwood, and shares of hops have come from all corners in support of their king. It was a truly moving display."

"Ale," Feren stated, disbelieving, as if the thought alone was revolting already, yet Thranduil knew that Feren could often as not be found in Dale's taverns when he accompanied his king. He looked at Ithril, then at Cúthalion and finally at Thranduil. "Exactly how much ale can you make with this?"

"Plenty to get Bard through the winter and then some," Thranduil told him. "Guard it as requested. We shall take it with us when we leave, though King Bard will remain for a while in Dale yet." He shook his head. "Cúthalion, we have a feast to attend."

"I think I shall talk to my sister," Cúthalion said ponderously, "it appears there has been a development I should be aware of."

A beseeching look from Feren found Thranduil, but this was something he would have to deal with himself. In fact, Thranduil was confident he would see Feren again safe and sound, if he had managed to woo and win over Ithril, he would be safe from Cúthalion. For Cúthalion's older sister was no less formidable than Sigrid, and had always looked after, but also put her brother in his place from the moment of his birth. Consequently, Feren should be in good hands.

Instead Thranduil smirked. "Very well," he told them and turned to walk back to the feast, though he still made a mental note to check whether Feren was indeed still in one piece the next morning. It was hard working training a new guard captain and Thranduil had been going through more of them than usual over the past decade.

He stopped by several other guards to exchange a few words and then made a round through the city to get a sense of people's mood, but revelry seemed to be the predominant emotion this night. The moon was full and when he looked out over the city walls he could see nothing but a few animals out to feed or woken and now in need of better shelter.

Hours later he found Bard most of the way asleep, but still dressed, lying face down on his bed. Only his crown had been discarded and Thranduil set his own down to join it before stepping to the bed. Reaching down he gently touched Bard on his back which roused him slightly. A groan answered him. 

"Do you want to get into bed properly, or do you want to complain about your stiff back along your hangover tomorrow?" Thranduil asked quietly. Bard turned his head, a glint of eyes in the darkness and Thranduil leaned in to kiss his cheek before straightening and beginning to disrobe. 

"I'll show you stiff," Bard repeated his earlier statement and rolled up into a sitting position with decidedly more grace than many other men would have managed. After unlacing his tunic and his breeches he folded them merely haphazardly and dropped them on the floor. 

Laughing Thranduil went to wash off the day with the gloriously warm water in the small tiled room adjacent to the bedchamber and called back, "Not tonight, I would think."

He received a wordless grumble in answer, which turned into a sigh when he brought a damp cloth to the bed and let it drop on Bard's shoulder. Judging by the way he had moved earlier in the night, Bard was in a fair amount of pain and there was no point in having him make the trip and back if it would put him in only more discomfort. He was proven right when Bard grabbed the cloth and started rubbing at his skin. In the meantime, Thranduil walked to the other side and climbed on the bed, dropped a kiss on the back of Bard's shoulder before making himself comfortable. 

After a few long moments a wet slap signified the cloth landing on the floor and Bard rolled himself back onto the bed, tugging at Thranduil to make him shift closer. Apparently it was still painful to actually lie on the scar, so when they shared a bed they were still confined to fewer sleeping positions than usual, often chest to back since that had the nice effect of preventing Bard from rolling onto the thigh. 

Now all of this was done in the almost complete darkness of the room, but Bard could anticipate his actions and knew Thranduil's body well enough that it didn't make a difference. He chuckled quietly and caught Thranduil's mouth in a kiss, then kept his thumb gently rubbing over his chin. "Rumour outside the city apparently has it that your people's presence in Dale is due to an obligation I have to you. Or vice versa, I have heard both within minutes of each other."

Thranduil snorted, settling his hand on Bard's hip, rubbing idle circles. "No one has obligated me to do anything for at least an age."

"That's what I told them, and that you had little use in obligating others." 

"Except my sons." At this, and the dry tone it was delivered in, Bard laughed against his lips and kissed him again, snaked an arm around Thranduil to stroke through his hair and down his back, soothing touches. When they broke the kiss Bard exhaled against Thranduil's still moist lips, blinking into the darkness. They lay facing each other and Thranduil whispered, "Tired?"

In answer Bard buried his face in the crook of his neck before saying, "This is good."

With a smile Thranduil moved his hand and slid it to Bard's back, stroked fingertips up and down his spine with gentle pressure. "I saw the hops. I failed to realise you were suffering that much."

"Wine as a substitute only goes so far," Bard teased with a chuckle. "I was touched to warrant that much without even asking for it."

"Your people like you," Thranduil told him and shifted a little closer, let Bard use his arm as a pillow. He stilled his hand, smoothed it against Bard's back and just held him, pushing both of them towards sleep, touching along the length of their bodies. "That is not exactly something new."

Bard sighed and nodded. "Prerogative of the king?"

The thought was so ludicrous that it made Thranduil laugh. "No. This is all you."

"Reassuring to know," Bard told him and blinked once more before burying his face against Thranduil's neck. Moments later his breathing had turned into the regular pattern of sleep and Thranduil brushed his lips against his cheek before going to sleep as well.

~*~

Several days later Thranduil made preparations to leave while Bard looked on. "When do you think we'll see the first snow?"

Thranduil stopped for a moment and looked up, shrugged. "A few weeks, maybe as long as midwinter. We should see frost within the month, though."

"That's not why I asked," Bard chided and crossed his arms over his chest, reminding both of them of his assurance to return to the Woodland Realm with the first freezing. With Bain gone, Bard had been weary of leaving Dale for the third winter, even though no problems had occurred in previous years. Still, Thranduil didn't actually doubt him on this.

Now he frowned to convey just that and stepped up to Bard to press a quick kiss to his lips. "I know."

"You better," Bard murmured, touched his face and kissed him in turn, a last moment of privacy before they had to make their goodbyes in public until the true onset of winter. "And rein in your council."

Scowling Thranduil shook his head. The reason he was leaving now already, two days after the Harvest Festival, was in no small part due to his council requesting his presence at his earliest convenience. This was a rare occasion, since the council, much like the rest of the Elves of the Woodland Realm, liked the King of Dale and the influence they claimed he had on their king. The mere idea of that was ludicrous of course, but Thranduil had found little harm to leave his people to that idea. Yet Thranduil also had very little influence on the ideas his council cooked up, and Bard knew that well enough. 

Their official goodbyes were far more formalised and Thranduil rode at the head of the column setting out from Dale, Ithril and Feren behind him followed by the cart, previously laden with food and now hops. Many of the Elves who had come only for the Harvest Festival had already left days ago, returning to their own duties.

"My Lord, would you have us take care of this?" Ithril asked as they neared the hill Thranduil's halls lay in, indicating the raw ingredients for ale. 

He considered the heaps of bags, then shook his head. "I suppose I will handle this myself." In response she stared at him. "Speak your mind, Ithril, if you would speak at all."

She shot a covert glance at Feren and since his guard captain was riding behind them Thranduil could not see his answering gesture. Ithril, much like her brother, had grown up at court and under Thranduil's patronage, but she also knew there was a difference between him as her king and him as a friend of her family and a very distant relation. Feren had only ever known Thranduil as his king and supreme commander and Ithril probably hoped for a clue from him. Then she seemed to come to a decision and shrugged at Thranduil. "You know this will make everyone talk even more?"

The gossip had most certainly reached its peak several years ago, and anyway Thranduil had never been too worried about that. If everyone knew and was talking about facts, then he had no need to make any sort of pronouncements. He also knew it was something Bard had come to appreciate over the years. No one in Dale or the Woodland Realm had actually so much as batted an eyelash at their respective presence after it had become clear after the first year or so that they wouldn't go anywhere. But that was not something he would explain to Ithril.

Instead he raised his eyebrows at her. "Tell me, how do you know that is not precisely what I am aiming at?"

She fell silent then, but Thranduil heard a small chuckle from behind them. 

Silence also reigned in the kitchen when he entered, several Elves stood rooted to the spot, holding up kettles and spits and ladles, staring at him. Clearly, no one had expected to see him in the kitchens when Bard was nowhere near the Woodland Realm. At the far end he spotted Lumdor, the head cook. 

"My Lord?" Lumdor asked with a healthy dose of trepidation in his voice. He accepted Bard in his kitchen, because Bard was content to let everyone bustle around him and was unobtrusive. Clearly Thranduil interrupted the workflow. 

"Outside you will find a cart laden with hops and grain for you to work with," he announced and received a sceptical look in turn.

"My Lord, is your need for tea this big? I was under the impression you appreciated the leaves from the east more than this mortal sleeping aid."

Smiling Thranduil shook his head. "It is an offering from the Kingdom of Dale, for the use by Lord Bard. He has expressed a desire for ale during for his stay this coming winter. Is this within your means to provide?"

"Ah, my Lord…" Lumdor trailed off, then shook his head. "Yes, I am confident I can facilitate this. I guess. I shall have to do some research."

"Do so," Thranduil told him and turned with a flourish to make his way out of the kitchen and straight towards the council chamber. He had sent Galion ahead before they arrived to gather the council; they had requested a meeting at his earliest convenience, so now it was time they got this silliness over with. 

Behind him murmurs started among the Elves working with Lumdor, but Thranduil chose to ignore them.

When he entered the council chamber it was empty except for Núneth. Thranduil sat in his seat, looked around. "This is mildly insulting. I hurried back upon your explicit request and you ignore my summons?"

She shook her head and stood. "The council has made a decision and elected me, as its spokesperson, to inform you of it."

This indeed peaked his interest. If the council considered the decision grievous enough that they thought they had to send Núneth ahead, it might turn out to be interesting indeed. "Oh?"

"We discussed and voted on an extension of summer recess," she told him. "Summer has turned into a time when we have no need to make decisions in recent years, and increasingly, it turns into an opportunity to spend longer periods with our families. Some female members of your council have expressed the desire to have children of their own. For you it would present an opportunity to make your own time in Dale last longer."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "And if a situation occurs that requires my intervention?"

She mirrored his expression and crossed her arms. With just that she dropped her formal tone. "Then, Thranduil, you are a few hours' ride away and a message will reach you within the hour by bird." Few people could affect such informality with him, but Núneth had known him before even his father had become king, and as Alairë's mother they were closely enough related by the marriage of their children. "You have to understand that this is not entirely to your benefit."

"You can clothe it in whatever words you want," he told her and rolled his shoulders. "Let us imagine I agreed with this plan, how would we proceed with the council?"

In truth Thranduil could probably order and force the council to attend him, but what would be the use? He didn't quite relish these sessions enough to do that, they all managed their responsibilities sufficiently behind the scenes that much of it was a formality. Still he was curious what they had cooked up. 

Núneth shrugged. "Most of our sessions are in spring and autumn already, due to the given circumstances around trade and travel. We would keep this and schedule the meetings as needed in winter. This should not be a major change."

"And by how much would you extend the summer recess?"

"Preferably extensively. Yet a total of three to four months, depending on the year, seems feasible. It should enable everyone to do what travels they would." Doubtlessly Núneth would make use of the time to go see her daughter and grandchildren in Duinhir's settlement. "You might be interested to know that three of your council members are with child."

With even a fraction less self-discipline Thranduil would have blinked, considering his councillors had been serving for a long time and he had expected them to have left the time of children behind already. But in this way they had presented him with matters already set in stone. 

Thranduil let out a breath. "Since you hardly give me a choice in the matter, very well. We will try this next year and see whether we can make it work. I reserve to reverse the council's decision if I consider it to not be working, next year or further in the future."

For a long moment Núneth held his gaze, letting know just how prefabricated this was exactly and that she understood that in a few decades he might rescind his agreement. She sighed. "I have no doubt you will see the merit, and maybe more than that. We have one more matter to vote on."

"Oh? So you are not after all running my kingdom without me?" When she rolled her eyes at him, he motioned for her to continue. "Very well. What is left yet?"

"Our people permanently settled in Dale have petitioned to have their own representative on the council. We determined not to decide on the motion until your return."

"How very thoughtful of you," Thranduil told her in his most dismissive tone of voice. He had expected this for a while already but hadn't wanted to push it himself. "Well then, call for a vote."

She sketched a bow and called, "Galion!" upon which the door to the chamber was opened and Galion led the rest of the council inside. Thranduil sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable.

~*~

Inevitably the frost came, as it did every year, though it was earlier than usual. At least the storms had not been as devastating as before. The certain knowledge whispered in Thranduil's bones that the snows would come early, but maybe not stay as long as other years, yet it would take a long time until the weather would warm up come spring.

This year the frost also brought Bard to the Woodland Realm. As Thranduil watched him dismount before all of his escort had even arrived and stride towards him, he could say without too much bias that Bard was moving better than just weeks ago. There had always been a lot of purposeful economy to Bard's movements, but he also carried his own sort of grace that might not be obvious right away, but that been noticeably disturbed when he had been injured. He moved much better now, if not entirely the way he usually did, yet that was only a matter of time. 

"My Lord," Bard murmured.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at his disgruntled expression. "What happened to you?"

Bard shook his head and rolled his shoulders to relax them. "I had two children not very far apart in age, so I am very familiar with having two crying toddlers when one is upset." He took a breath. "I had forgotten about the temper tantrums."

A laugh stuck in Thranduil's throat and he raised an eyebrow and smirked haughtily. "May I take that as an admission that you are actually glad to have made your escape?"

Narrowing his eyes, Bard walked past him after a moment, murmuring, "I was sure glad to have two Elves in the house at any given time who don't actually need sleep."

Thranduil gave into the urge to chuckle quietly and turned to walk after him, hand lightly pressed into the small of his back. Over the years they had been careful not to entangle their dealings with each other as kings and their lives away from their crowns, but since Bard spent a whole season in the Woodland Realm — with quite clear implications — cracks had appeared in that veneer. Their involvement had never been a secret, yet neither of them saw much reason to flaunt it.

"Then I take it you would not object to bedding down for some much needed rest?"

Bard laughed. "I'm not entirely sure how much … _rest_ … there would be had. But no, I would not. Does my Lord Thranduil object to personally show me where this bed might be?" 

As they walked down the passages Thranduil caught one of the guards rolling his eyes. 

"Certainly, my Lord. If you would follow me…" Both of them chuckled and in an empty hallway Bard stopped him by turning and putting a hand to his shoulder. Then he leaned in and caught Thranduil in a kiss that lasted only a few moments, yet was enough for them to settle into their usual rhythm. He touched Bard's face, rubbed their noses together and said, "We need to speak about summer."

With a pained expression Bard caught his fingers. "Hello to you as well. It is barely winter, what can be so important?" When Thranduil smiled and shrugged, he shook his head and pulled Thranduil after him. "Whatever it is, it can wait. I want that bed, preferably with both of us in it."

"Yes, my Lord," Thranduil answered with no little amusement. 

When Bard was presented with a tankard of ale at supper that evening, his eyes grew huge. Attendants hovered in the doorways, ready to report whatever response the Lord of Dale might have to the kitchens and a nervous Lumdor. 

"I didn't think—" Then he narrowed his gaze. "Where did you find a brewing kettle?"

Thranduil had not known — though he should probably have expected — that ale brewing had grown industrious enough in Dale for there to be specialised equipment. Still, he was not surprised. "I imagine it was to be found somewhere."

"Why do Elves have brewing kettles?"

Shrugging, Thranduil invited him to drink and took a sip of wine himself. "Over the years my father collected many artefacts or was given them as payment of one debt or other. Something suitable might have been among them."

Certainly those things were sorted and catalogued, but he had not bothered to check the contents in a long time. That did not mean others might not have. 

Predictably, Bard shook his head, but drank deeply from the tankard, only to come up coughing. "You know that ale is supposed to be a substitute for water? How did you make it this strong, this would be unimaginable for us?"

Meanwhile a flurry of activity and whispers had erupted at the doorway that Thranduil quieted with a move of his hand. "You know that our water is quite pure and so is the one you might drink in Dale?"

"Not the point," Bard pointed out, took another careful sip. "This might grow on me yet, though."

Smirking, Thranduil leaned back and enjoyed his supper.

~*~

Bard's hand went slack and slipped out of his grip and breath left his lips for the last time.

When Thranduil tore open his eyes in confusion bordering on panic, Bard lay facing him, breathing quietly in the deep regularity of sleep. 

It had been a dream. It must have been a dream, but Thranduil found himself shaking with the knowledge he had taken for granted over the past years. He knew the day would come when Bard would inevitably cross into the next world, though it was decades away yet. Since early in their entanglement Thranduil had known the circumstances of that day; he had known Bard would ride off never to return, leaving Thranduil with the knowledge but not to witness it. Death came after life for those whose hearts were mortal, and Thranduil had accepted the reality of it despite the apprehension occasionally curling in his gut. Bard would live a full life and this was Eru Ilúvatar's design, not to be meddled with. Yet now Thranduil found himself doubting this very knowledge that had let him predict the day when it came.

Bard murmured in inquiry when Thranduil shifted away from him, but settled easily when he rested a hand on his arm. "Sleep," he whispered with a brush of lips against his cheek. He waited until Bard had fallen back to deeper levels of sleep once more before sitting up and turning up the wick in the lamp above the bed a little. The almost extinguished flame sputtered back to life to give off a little warm glow. Thranduil didn't require it, but he had found light to be a comfortable commodity and the sight of Bard's chest rising and falling was much more to be appreciated this way. Thranduil wanted to reach out and touch yet not wake Bard, then allowed himself that pleasure and reached to lay his arm along Bard's hand to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. 

If it were feasible to keep Bard with him, or in turn stay at his side, for the time that remained to them… But no. Such an action would not be in the realm of possibility. They both had their duties and had to contend themselves with visits. 

A sigh on his lips, Thranduil leaned over to brush his lips over Bard' temple and catch the scent of his hair. 

He was still sitting up and reading by the time Bard jerked under the covers, kicked and then woke with a violent cough, bolting upright. His hand clamped around Thranduil's wrist like a vice. Looking around in confusion, panic receding in his gaze, he fell back on the mattress after a few heartbeats with a heartfelt groan. 

Thranduil peered at him curiously and closed the book over his finger as Bard released his death grip. "Are you all right?"

For a moment Bard remained silent as if taking stock. Maybe it was a night for dreams, as Thranduil had not witnessed Bard suffering from nightmares often, and he had never said anything about them plaguing him on the regular. When finally he said, "Yes, certainly," Thranduil set the book aside and reached out to stroke through his hair, disentangling a few snags as he went and feeling Bard push into the caress. 

"Do you want to go back to sleep?" Thranduil asked quietly a while later. Bard had his head pillowed on his folded arms, Thranduil's hand still in his hair. Now he propped himself up on one elbow. 

"Not particularly," he answered and caught Thranduil's hand when it fell away, pressed a kiss to his fingers. His next words surprised Thranduil, but also peaked his curiosity. "What do you know of dragons?"

With a grimace Thranduil sighed. "They do not make a very good topic for a bedtime story."

They never spoke of Bard's adventures in dragon slaying. It was an episode Bard would just rather forget than be reminded of, even though Thranduil had made a point of it repeatedly over the years. The dead dragon in the Long Lake was the best testament to Bard's capabilities and even though he didn't like to remember it, sometimes it was necessary to build on that legacy. The Black Arrow now in the armoury was proof of that. Still it was not a topic they usually touched between them, not so much by silent agreement than disinterest. Both of them could think of better uses for their time together.

Bard grinned self-deprecatingly, interlaced their fingers and tugged. "Humour me."

For a while Thranduil studied him. Neither of them seemed eager to go back to sleep and it was the dead of night. He had no desire to do this, and foul creatures like dragons were better spoken of in bright daylight. Still he let himself be persuaded to lie down again, facing Bard. "They reek worse than a whole mountain of unwashed Dwarves ever could, they are a bane on all our existence, some of them breathe fire and some fly."

"But not all?"

"No." He shook his head. "They have only been flying since the War of Wrath. Glaurung could breathe fire but not fly." Thranduil was unsure what Bard might already know from what had passed into the legends of later generations, what he might have heard elsewhere and what might be wholly new to him. All he truly knew was that he never wanted to see another dragon again if he could help it.

"Glaurung?" Bard echoed, frowning as if the name was familiar but he could not place it.

Thranduil stroked his wrist with his thumb, a small motion to keep them both reminded of the present. "The father of all dragons. Túrin Turambar slew him, who first came to Elu Thingol's court as a foster child. This is another interesting aspect of dragons, they have a penchant to be killed by mortals."

"Truly?" Bard had both eyebrows raised in surprise and Thranduil, too, only now noticed that particular pattern. "And have the Sindar always been prone to fostering children of hapless Men?"

"In special circumstances only," Thranduil told him and leaned in to brush his lips over Bard's forehead. "They were our allies and with Túrin's father dead, Thingol welcomed him and treated him like a son. In his life he was many things: friend, guard, outlaw, husband, traitor. He was beloved by the captain of the Marchwardens, but later killed him in what was deemed an accident, but truly it was part of Morgoth's doom upon his family. It might be argued that he was responsible for the fall of Nargothrond as well, causing thousands of deaths. That same doom blinded his sister and himself, and he fell on his sword when he learned he had taken his sister to the marriage bed. She had thrown herself off a cliff moments earlier, pregnant with her brother's child. Some took all of this is a sign that the Valar do not want the kindreds to mingle often."

At the time Thranduil had not cared much about Túrin either way, despite the curiosity a mortal had presented at an Elvish court, a novelty still considering the insulation of Doriath. Thranduil tried to remember being as young as he had been then, fully grown but without the experience that age bestowed upon his people. 

Silence reigned between them for a few heartbeats until Bard let out a shaky breath. "Túrin couldn't win?"

"It is one of our most tragic tales … even considering the history of my people. Perhaps it is fortunate the First Age was so short." 

"Still tragic … and many lifetimes of Men," Bard answered and Thranduil shrugged. "Does everyone who gets himself on a dragon's bad side find a tragic end?"

Was that Bard's concern? Had the nightmare concerned Smaug and now he was worried he might have brought a curse upon his family that would haunt them yet? Bain had helped kill Smaug, and Bard would care more about his son than himself. 

Thranduil let out a breath and considered. "Tuor once told me he stabbed the dragon that levelled Gondolin in the foot. Losing his home aside, there were no consequences. He is Túrin's cousin."

Snorting Bard shook his head. "He's won it all?"

Thranduil tilted his head, shrugged. "Tuor was Ulmo's special project, the only mortal to be granted asylum in Valinor. Allegedly, that is, but Idril was very insistent when they set out."

"Do you think they got there?" It sounded genuinely curious and Thranduil found he hadn't given the matter thought in a long time. He and his father had agreed that knowing how headstrong Idril was, as well as Ulmo's involvement, they very likely had. 

Once Thranduil would have wondered if this was possible for them, force the hand of the Valar into compliance. This was a situation markedly different from what the Númenorians had tried, after all, this was a high ranking Elf making a reasonable request for which precedence existed. But Thranduil had been king for a long time and learned a great deal over the ages, and he knew Bard would never agree to anything like that, even if he suggested it. It was not in his nature, and Thranduil would not force something like this on him. They would both live their lives and appreciate what was given to them. 

"I would like to think they did," he said eventually, hoping to strike a balance that way.

"They are proof that Elves and Men may mingle and still it might turn out well? How would anyone think the contrary just because Túrin was doomed?" It sounded more worried than thoughtful and Bard squeezed their joined hands a little tighter.

"Why are you worried?" Thranduil shot back sharply, both of them knowing he was not necessarily worried about the two of them, yet was speaking of Sigrid and Cúthalion, but also the many other couples who had found each other in Dale. When Bard merely shook his head, he sighed, tried to find words that would reassure and still not belittle the situation. "Our two kindreds have mingled since the sun was first set in the sky, you must not forget that by far not all Elves travelled to Valinor to heed the Valar's rules. Even those who learned from them chose to follow their own traditions, as do we. It means little that some few of those unions were retroactively considered pivotal points of our history."

He saw Bard roll his eyes at that. "Something to be thankful for," he murmured. 

Thranduil smiled, because they very much agreed on that notion. "If you asked me, the Valar have abandoned us since even before the War of Wrath and care little about what we do any longer." He turned on his back and looked at the ceiling, giving levity to his next words that he wasn't sure he felt. "And why would the powers of this world care about a little kingdom in the north anyway?"

Snorting, Bard let go of his hand and shoved him against the shoulder in retaliation, which made Thranduil grin. Bard was proud of his kingdom and well he should be, though he didn't give himself nearly enough recognition for it. Thranduil didn't share the idea that Bard was inconsequential; he _was_ the last of the dragonslayers, and it would not be surprising if a lay was already being composed somewhere. His legacy would still be sung when even the very land would no longer look the way it did now. But if he said this to Bard then he would deny it and do his utmost to discourage the idea in his people. 

"Who else?" Bard asked. It was warm under the blankets they shared, but he scooted a little closer and stroked a hand up and down Thranduil's arm. A moment later he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the pointed arch of Thranduil's ear.

"You," Thranduil pointed out and received a glare in turn, upon which he kissed the tip of Bard's nose, then sobered. "Possibly an ancestor of the Rohirrim when they still lived here in the north, yet I consider it a founding myth rather than fact, I would have known about a dragon here in this age. And of course you know of Eärendil and Ancalagon."

When they had first spoken of Lúthien and Beren, Bard had known that tale in its basest form and Thranduil had merely filled in the details for him, covering also their descendants. The War of Wrath had been the natural culmination, so indeed Bard would know about that. Bard, predictably, had rolled his eyes and muttered about Elves at some points. 

Now he frowned. "He was not mortal."

"By all we know he wanted to be and only chose his Elvish heritage because he wanted to stay with Elwing."

"Which I still think is foolish." When Thranduil shot him a questioning glance he elaborated, "To simply abandon your children like that… I could never do it. I mean, I will have to, one day, but … not like that."

No. Thranduil rolled himself on his side and pushed Bard over on his back with more than gentle force, hovering above him. "That would not be abandonment."

He caught the conditional nature of his words too late, but Bard held his gaze regardless and merely reached up to touch and keep Thranduil's hair out of both their eyes and smiled his understanding. "Nonetheless. Parents should not outlive their children."

"That matter is not so easy when it comes to Elves," Thranduil told him and folded one arm over Bard's chest, pillowed his chin on it. Bard exhaled heavily and threaded his hand into Thranduil's hair, absently stroking. "You have to see that."

"I do," Bard told him. "Yet I'm glad not to be in your position where that is concerned. Still, when Eärendil and Elwing sailed west the twins were children, far from even grown."

In the end Thranduil had no answer for that. He had not been in the position to do much in the years of the War of Wrath; the Sindarin armies had been all but non-existent and rather than join the Valar and their forces in the fighting, his father had helped to coordinate refugee efforts. Anyone not able to hold a weapon had been directed east to find their way across the Blue Mountains. After Elwing had thrown herself off the tower and the twins had been stolen away by Maglor and Maedhros, they could have done little else. Thranduil had followed his orders and afterwards… Much later the Last Alliance had been a more than sobering experience, but few of them had expected to outlive that effort, and they had not had the luxury of worrying about what might come after. 

He felt Bard's lips brush his forehead and looked up at him. "We learn to deal with situations as they fall, extenuating circumstances or no," Thranduil said. Then he echoed his own thoughts and added, "And we learn to appreciate the good things that happen to us."

"Do you now," Bard murmured with a smile. "Who else?"

"Just you."

Frowning he tightened his hand in Thranduil's hair. "You already counted me on that list."

"What do you want to do about it?" Thranduil teased, still wondering why Bard had asked him about dragons in the first place. It didn't seem like an answer was forthcoming, though, and he would not force it. If and when he felt the need to elaborate he would, and until then Thranduil might as well use the time to distract them both. He pushed himself up and pressed his mouth to Bard's with a quiet exhalation.

It was Bard who took it a step further, pushing up into the kiss and Thranduil let him in immediately. They kissed for a while, Thranduil's arm not resting on Bard's chest braced on the mattress to give him enough leverage and keep his weight off him, while Bard's right was still tangled in his hair, his left rested below the small of his back on the swell of his buttocks, squeezing gently. His thigh was busy working itself between Thranduil's legs, giving an excellent amount of friction, making him moan quietly.

"I take it you don't want to go back to sleep?" Bard murmured against his lips, gently nipped at them only to sooth the sting again with lips and tongue.

"I am hardly the one requiring all that rest," Thranduil answered and shifted his weight minutely to take advantage of Bard still rubbing against him. It was a relief to both of them that the wound had healed so well and they could stop being too careful. Now it was little more than a pink scar, smooth to his touch when he unerringly let his hand wander there. But Bard didn't like to be reminded of what he considered personal shortcomings and brushed his hand away, nonchalantly bringing it up between them to rest on his chest again.

He tilted his head to give Thranduil better access to his neck when he started kissing along his jaw. "Do you have an agenda for tomorrow?"

"Not that I am aware of," Thranduil told him, in between sucking a lurid bruise into the soft skin of Bard's neck, where it would just so not be covered by the high collars Bard preferred these days and Bard let him. When he was satisfied with the colour and size he let off and returned to Bard's lips. "Why?"

"Because then we can catch up on all the sleep we'll be missing." The fact that neither of them felt like sleeping, much for their own reasons, remained unsaid, but that thought scattered when Bard bucked his hips. Thranduil thought that was an excellent idea and said as much, which made Bard laugh, ending in a gasp when Thranduil reached down between them to take firm hold of him. "I see you like the idea."

It was not quite dawn by the time they fell asleep, though twilight was not far off. Thranduil's back was firmly pressed against Bard's chest, arm across his stomach, fingers linked. Playfully Bard nipped the arch of his ear and whispered sleepily, "I'm glad you think my idea has merit," which made Thranduil laugh quietly. A kiss pressed to his hair was the last thing he consciously remembered, though when he woke up with the pale wintry sun high in the sky the next day he was still enveloped by their shared warmth.

~*~

On the eve before Midwinter — which marked the second to last day in the year of Men — Thranduil exited the library after a long afternoon trying to hunt down an obscure reference that had peaked his curiosity days ago. Bard had declined to keep him company when he had learned that no more illustrated guides to lovemaking might be had.

Now the resident dragonslayer was nowhere to be found. Both Galion and Feren were off duty, yet one of the guards vaguely directed him towards the lower levels of his halls. When he arrived in the kitchens, Bard's common haunt when down here, all activity ground to a halt and several pairs of eyes stared at him. After a few moments Lumdor's voice sounded from behind a rack of pots, "Lord Bard is not here. I believe he is in the wine cellar with Galion and Feren."

With a nod of acknowledgement Thranduil turned and frowned to himself back in the hallway. Lumdor's chest had been swelled with pride for weeks after Bard had personally complimented him for the ale, he had even stopped throwing contemptuous glances at Thranduil whenever he followed Bard down here. For a few moments Thranduil considered, then descended one more level to enter the deep, high ceilinged wine cellar. He walked past the barrels and bottles stacked top to bottom in their racks. 

He had not been down here for several centuries; he received an inventory from Galion every year after the delivery and once at the beginning of spring to estimate consumption until fall. He didn't know if Bard came here when he found himself with idle time on his hands, and he certainly hadn't expected the assembly of guards and aides he found seated with him at a table, cards in their hands.

Conversation fell suddenly flat when he strode towards the table. Cups of wine were lowered, clattering against plates of bread, cheese and preserved fruits. Bard looked up from his hand of cards; before him a tankard stood on the table. If the collection of markers in front of him was any indication, he was doing rather well. "Galion said you never came here."

"I take it that was by design, then," Thranduil answered, one eyebrow raised and tucking his hands into his sleeve. Bard shot him a lopsided smile that was a little smug. "What exactly is it you are doing?"

"If all of this represented money, I'd be alleviating your Elves of their paltry wages. Again," Bard told him. "I'd think after however many thousands of years they would be better at tavern games."

"We in the Woodland Realm don't cheat," Feren informed him with a frown and placed another piece of arrow fletching in the middle before flicking his eyes to Thranduil. "My Lord."

Snorting Bard drew another card and without a motion on his face sorted it into what he already held. "No need to cheat, you're making it easy enough as it is. At least now I understand where all the drunk Elves came from that I regularly had to collect downriver."

Thranduil shook his head. "Is this a regular … occurrence then?"

"Lord Bard has graced us with his presence only recently," Galion muttered, "and we are considering to revert our invitation."

"No one invited me exactly," Bard said calmly and lay down his cards. "Show of hands."

Both Feren and Galion groaned and Thranduil took that as his cue to leave and ponder the fact that apparently his attendants used the wine cellar for their break room. He shouldn't be surprised that Bard had figured out that much; he had a tendency to question what Thranduil took for granted because he had lived in these halls since before the Last Alliance. The esteemed King of Dale, however, apparently had a reputation to maintain and was actively fostering it here. Truly, Thranduil should have known.

Since Bard seemed to be occupied for a few more hours at least, Thranduil took to his study. Duinhir had asked for a few supplies to be shipped to him come spring, some of which came from the Woodland Realm, some from Dale and a few even from the Dwarves in Erebor since the tribe left in the Iron Hills apparently was unable to supply it. Dale, or more precisely Bard, had agreed to organise the trip down the Celduin, but it was upon Thranduil to actually put everything together. 

Reports from Aldarion continued to entail nothing out of the ordinary, besides a gradually mounting frustration at being cooped up for too long. And indeed Thranduil couldn't remember when Aldarion had been in any one place for almost a year; no wonder he was feeling itchy. But at least everything remained quiet from the east. 

It was later than he had intended by the time he went for a quick dip in the baths and then to bed. The baths were deserted, but he found Bard stretched out on Thranduil's side of the bed, intentionally taking up far more space than he needed. Raising an eyebrow in amusement, Thranduil asked, "I take it you found my wine cellar entertaining enough?"

"In a contest between your wine cellar and your library — gems like that little book on _play_ notwithstanding — I think the activities in your wine cellar will always win out. Unless more nefarious things happen down there when I'm not looking, and then I suppose neither of us wants to know about it." Bard obliged to make the barest amount of space when Thranduil nudged him, then rolled half on top of him when Thranduil grimaced at the thought. "Your Elves need to get better at gambling."

"I hardly discourage it, considering I had no idea they were doing it," Thranduil told him and stole a kiss that still tasted of ale. One of his hands rested in the dip of Bard's back just shy of the swell of his buttocks, his other stroked idly over his shoulder. "They were drinking my wine, were they not?"

The wink Bard shot him was answer enough, yet he said, "I am sworn to secrecy."

"Colour me unsurprised," Thranduil told him dryly. "How did you find them?"

"If you had spent a considerable part of your life sniffing out card games, you'd know what to look for, too. I couldn't believe Elves were above that, considering your passion for games of … other sorts." Bard wriggled a little and nipped sharply at his throat.

At this Thranduil studied him from under hooded eyes and murmured, "Does that mean my bargeman used to gamble away his wages?"

Laughing, Bard pushed himself up a little to be able to bite lightly at Thranduil's ear. "This was long before I was in your service. My Lord. And I don't lose."

"Is that so."

"That is so."

Lips twitching, Thranduil started to work his thigh between both of Bard's before rolling them over so he hovered above him, his hair falling around them. His elbows bracketed Bard's head as he bent for a kiss, and Bard held him in place for a moment before changing the angle until Thranduil broke it. "Does that mean my bargeman had a disreputable youth?"

"So disreputable, you have no idea. My Lord Thranduil would never have accepted me into his service if not for the hereditary contract." Bard's hands rested on his shoulders now in a light caress. 

They held the tension for another moment before they started laughing and Thranduil lowered himself to half lie on top of Bard, whose arms went round him to rest on Thranduil's back. Warm points of contact. "You were far more reliable than many others I have done business with over the ages," Thranduil eventually said. "And I happen to think it worked out rather well."

Bard hummed in consideration, kissed him and then nuzzled behind his ear, just breathing for a moment. His stubble scratched lightly in a familiar way. After a little while he answered, "I happen to think so, too."

They rested like that, talking quietly until Thranduil eventually rolled to his side. They lay facing each other comfortably and Bard reached out and stroked a strand of Thranduil's hair behind his ear. "When should we expect Bain to be back, do you think?"

Another son with wandering feet, although Bain before long would have no choice but to stay in Dale. "Diplomatic missions can run long," Thranduil said. "Yet I suppose Bain knows he is expected back before long."

Bard sighed and rested his head on the pillow they shared. "Between him and Tilda, I should simply give the crown to Sigrid. At least with her I know she won't find the distance more appealing than what she holds in her hands."

"Bain knows his responsibilities." After all, he had come to Thranduil to ask for advice in the first place on how to handle it. But he also had been right in wanting to prove himself with something. Now Thranduil frowned. "What's with Tilda?"

A shrug and then Bard pursed his lips in contemplation. "She's impatient." Thranduil nodded; he had mentioned something like that before and it was also something Thranduil himself had noticed, but he had attributed it to her being the youngest of Bard's children. "Like she's waiting for … something. And since it's not happening she's getting worse. Maybe I'm reading too much into it."

Smiling Thranduil reached for his hand and pressed his lips to Bard's fingers. "She had time to grow up slower than either Sigrid or Bain. And now she is an adult."

Laughing through a groan, Bard shook his head and scooted closer, tucking their joint hands against his chest. "Don't say things like that." He fell silent and Thranduil drew him in closer still with his other hand, palm resting flat between his shoulder blades. "My little girl."

With a snort Thranduil shook his head. "Even I have trouble remembering when she was that last. I have found a rather considerable advantage to having all the children grown up." When Bard rose his eyebrows in question Thranduil pressed a brief kiss to his lips. "More time for other important things."

That drew a chuckle out of Bard and he leaned in in turn to kiss him back. "Perhaps," he murmured. "You might have a point. Within reason."

Satisfied, Thranduil entangled their legs to close that last bit of distance between them. They kept kissing for a while longer but soon fell asleep, Thranduil's face buried in the crook of Bard's neck, breathing in the familiar blend of smells of sweat and soap and warm skin.

Both Feren and Galion were back on duty the next day, though Galion did his best to appear impervious, he did not quite succeed. Feren, on the other hand, traipsed around the halls, always within sight and sorely tested Thranduil's patience. After a day of this he was fed up enough to call his captain into his study. "Is there something on your mind you feel you should say?"

Taken aback, Feren hesitated for a moment before he cautiously said, "I doubt it, my Lord."

Thranduil exhaled in exasperation and glanced up. "Did you deliver those roster reports?"

"They are on your desk, my Lord." Now Feren frowned in confusion. Clearly he had expected something different.

Nodding, looking at his papers again Thranduil added, "As long as it has no impact on your performance, I care little what you do after your duty finishes. You may go now."

Silence answered him for long moments, then a scuff of boots on the stone floor and Feren cleared his throat before responding, "Yes, my Lord."

Thranduil supposed Bard still went to gamble with the guards, though he himself stayed away from the wine cellar for the time being. Perhaps it was better he didn't know about some things as long as his kingdom remained in order.

~*~

Thranduil started to feel on edge when winter slowly started to wane, though no hint of spring was yet in the air. It was an itch beneath his skin in a place he couldn't reach no matter how hard he tried and it made him restless. For a while he was tempted to blame it on the talk of dragons, but Thranduil was too old to fool himself like that for long. Something was afoot, and he had not yet sorted out what it might be.

The feeling got stronger as the days went by, until Thranduil stopped sleeping entirely instead of tossing in restlessness. Bard had kept his silence until then — though doubtlessly he had noticed Thranduil rising in the middle of the night — but he did not remain quiet any longer. They were both fatally stubborn and while Bard refused to accept that Thranduil had no answers, Thranduil would not elaborate any further. There was no point when it might be as negligible as a message from Celeborn coming his way (even though that would present a momentous change in the Woodland Realm's foreign policy). 

As before it was affecting Thranduil's people, who started treading more silently around them, watching their steps and whispering. The nervous energy they had displayed during last year's encounter with Elrond was notably absent though; likely they noticed the two of them were not fighting about fundamentals. 

In the end the whole situation had culminated early that day in Bard telling him in a deathly calm voice, "How about you come looking for me once you've pulled your head out of your own arse?" before turning around to leave. That had been this morning, after another night Thranduil had spent brooding in his solar, letting the cold in through the removed screen to look out over the trees, trying to feel out what it might be. The moon was dark and only the stars were out, yet even the light of the Silmaril Elwing had taken with her was gone so long away from twilight.

He was ever so tempted to find Bard and tell him it was nothing, dismiss the niggling at the edges of his soul as make-believe, when Ithril entered his study. She was paler than he had ever seen her, and she only took one look at him, her eyes wide. "I'm not imagining it, then."

"Sadly that does not seem to be the case," he told her after a quiet exhale to resign himself to the fact that once more he had not been mistaken. This time he would have liked to be. Ithril had always displayed a certain propensity for knowing when something might happen, for better or worse. Her mother had been the same, though even that had not saved her life. Now Ithril was clearly shaken, and Thranduil studied her for a moment as she visibly tried to collect herself. He waited a little longer before saying, "It might be a long way off."

"Or it might not," Ithril murmured. Then she squared her shoulders and opened her mouth to speak when steps sounded on the stairs, Elvish but still clearly audible. An intentional announcement.

It was Feren, fully attired in armour and weapons and while Thranduil groaned internally, his captain and Ithril stared at each other. Neither of them reached out, yet it was clear some sort of communication was happening. A long moment followed until Feren could tear his gaze away and directed it at Thranduil. "My Lord, it seems—"

"That we have a situation?" Thranduil answered dryly. It was Feren's typical turn of phrase when he thought something warranted his king's personal attention. It could hardly be coincidental that this was happening now, after days of build-up.

Feren closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "I think it might be more than that, my Lord. One of the patrols encountered Orcs just beyond our borders. Dead Orcs."

"Tell me why I should worry about dead Orcs as opposed to live ones?"

His guard captain shrugged. "Apparently there are many. Who put them there? Why? And considering the latest developments here," he said and glanced at Ithril, taking in the notable absence of Bard in their midst, "this now seems all the more significant."

With a sigh Thranduil shifted his cloak to settle differently around his shoulders. "You think I need to assess this for myself."

"Yes, my Lord," Feren told him without hesitation. In truth Thranduil appreciated when his guards were frank with him, yet this was not what he had expected when he and Bard had fought about it this morning. Apparently they would speak of it much sooner than either of them might have expected. 

Of course he had little trouble finding Bard. While Thranduil's kingdom was open for him to go wherever he pleased, he had places he found more comfortable than others. In winter he could usually be found in the kitchens or even the library on occasion, but most often when he was by himself he would go to the range. The kitchens would be rife with gossip of their discussion of the morning that had doubtlessly been overheard, so Thranduil took his chances and indeed found Bard shooting arrow after arrow at a straw target. 

Bard knew he was there. Still he fired twice more, taking his time, before turning around to Thranduil and setting the bow on a rack. With anyone else, Thranduil would have accused him of trying to make a point. At first Bard scowled, until he took a closer look. Then his expression mellowed and he rubbed his eyes with thumb and index finger of his right hand, still carrying the indentation of the bowstring. "What happened?"

"I do not know," Thranduil told him truthfully, voice carrying just enough to reach him. "But I need to look at dead Orcs."

Looking up sharply Bard's face turned hard again. "Why you?"

"Because I am king of this realm. Tell me this is not what you would do."

A humourless smile played around Bard's lips. "Isn't it you who is normally more sensible than me?"

Thranduil snorted in derision. "This is hardly a matter of sensibility." 

Bard looked as if he wanted to argue further, but bit his cheek and nodded, letting it rest for now. "You have to go?" When Thranduil said nothing he sighed. "Very well."

It was Bard who helped him into his armour; padding, cuirass, vambraces. It was an old ritual; they had done this since they first had gone to war together a decade ago. Bard did not have as much practice at it as some of Thranduil's attendants, for luckily neither of them was required to go campaigning often, but they both preferred it this way. 

No one could ride with the snowdrifts as high as they were, so hard marching lay ahead of Thranduil and the company Feren was putting together at present. 

"Tell me again why you're doing this?" Bard asked quietly as he closed a clasp, thumbing it a few times to make sure it would hold. When Thranduil merely looked at him and flexed his hand in his lined leather gloves he shook his head. "Your kingdom, right. Are we sure it's not a dragon?"

Again talk of dragons. But the question was so ludicrous even in this situation that Thranduil snorted. "I would not go confront a dragon. If the last two wars have taught me one lesson plain as day, it was that. I stayed out of Smaug's way for almost two centuries, I will not start that foolishness now. Leave that to the Dwarves."

"I sure hope not, I like what we made of Dale." It was said in such a dry tone that Thranduil had to smile. Then Bard fell silent for a moment and frowned. "I should come with you."

"Absolutely not!"

Bard glanced up, a challenging glitter in his eyes. "Why not?"

Sighing Thranduil raised his hand and cursed himself for already putting on his gloves when he cupped Bard's face. He kissed him, intending it to be a quick touch of lips, but then lingered. "Because I need to know you safe."

In answer Bard sighed quietly against his lips and rested their foreheads together, eyes shut to not let the moment pass. But it invariably had to, and when he closed the last clasp on Thranduil's armour he kissed him once more, this one brief. "Go. I will keep honing my dragonslaying skills in case those are needed after all."

Thranduil grinned, though he knew it was a sad mockery of their usual banter. "A splendid idea. I will be back in two days at the latest."

"Will you?"

"Think of it as a reconnaissance mission." He rested a hand on Bard's arm, holding on with enough force to reassure him. "What can possibly go wrong?"

Laughing through a groan, Bard shook his head. "Did you have to say that?"

"It keeps life interesting, do you not think so?"

"Speak for yourself," he growled, then pulled Thranduil in and pressed one last hard kiss to his mouth. "Two days. And be careful," he admonished. It wasn't a promise, but it was his consort's demand and Thranduil would try as he might not to disappoint. 

"Yes, my Lord," Thranduil answered and went on his way before they dragged it out even more. While Orcs hardly ever appeared singly and therefore anything that involved them bore a flavour of danger, he did not expect this to be a perilous outing. Still Bard seemed to quietly acquiescence with the situation now he had wheedled something resembling a promise out of Thranduil. 

The snow, frozen and hard packed by now, provided a better trail than even their commonly used roads might have. This way they could often walk five abreast. Feren had assembled a company of sixty, including Ithril and Legolas, to accompany them and act as guards and fighting force, if needed. They made good time and managed to cross the frozen river much sooner than Thranduil had expected.

Silence reigned, however. The Elves felt the tension that had settled over their king these past days and knew that danger might find them on their trek and that Thranduil would not bring them here if it could be avoided. Many of them moved uncomfortably in their armour and under their clothes and even Thranduil felt the cold through his layers. His breath bloomed in front of him as he trudged on, and it made him doubly glad he had left Bard warm and safe in the hill's stronghold.

Even though they had left before midday, darkness had long fallen and dawn was not long off by the time the stench started to assault their noses. A sliver of moonlight was reflected on the bright snow, yet it was a long time until even they could make out shapes and sizes. The pile of corpses lay beyond what Thranduil considered to be their border region, between the no man's land of their territory and what had been left to the shadow. It had been freezing since late autumn, not a day passed when temperatures rose above that mark since before midwinter. If rotting Orcs produced this overwhelming stench and spread it so far when it was this cold, there had to be a lot of them indeed. 

Nothing moved around them. His soldiers stopped as one behind Thranduil as he surveyed the display. At least a hundred of the foul creatures lay dead in a pile, south-westerly from Thranduil's halls. If he or Feren had expected an ambush, it didn't come and he was left to study what was in front of him. From the corner of his vision he saw Feren and Ithril put guards to watch, just as Legolas pushed to the front.

"What do you think might have happened?" he asked as he reached Thranduil's side, looking mildly disgusted in regards to the smell, but pulled himself together. At least he did not go any closer, for now.

Thranduil had a rather good idea what all of it meant, yet he would need to think on it a while longer. He glanced at his son and shook his head. "I believe Dol Guldur is occupied again, and that this is their greeting."

"Do you think it a friendly force, then?" Curiosity drove that question, but when Thranduil shook his head Legolas frowned. "Why would they kill their own?"

"I am not sure," Thranduil told his son and then looked at him sharply. "You will not go there again."

"Of course not," Legolas agreed, much to Thranduil's surprise. Maybe what had happened with Elrond's twins had made an impression on him after all. 

With a sigh that had Thranduil breathe more of the foul air than he was comfortable with, he turned to Feren. "I want them out of sight."

"My Lord?"

"We can do nothing about the smell. I will not honour them with burial and we have no means to burn them, but I want them not to be visible from the road we are standing on, come spring sunshine, or the next snow." His patrols didn't need the constant reminder of what had happened here, when the exact events were unclear. Thranduil had the suspicion that this might be exactly what the enemy wanted. "Have them removed."

Feren studied him for a moment, but then nodded and turned around to bark orders. Meanwhile Legolas kept looking at the pile of dead Orcs, until Feren called out, "Legolas, get to work!"

When he turned to go, Thranduil followed him with his glance. For a long time that would have been unthinkable; Legolas had considered himself outside of the command structure despite spending all his time with the guard. Now he helped carry bodies of Orcs further into the woods, away from line of sight of the road. Like all others he grimaced at the dead flesh in his hands, the smell in his nose. Thranduil was glad to see this, and it gave him hope for what was to come.

After the transport was well under way and dawn had long come, Feren stepped up to Thranduil. "I will double the patrols."

"No," Thranduil told him quickly. "That is exactly what we are not going to do."

It was probably fair that Feren looked confused. "My Lord, may I ask why?"

"Because occasionally it serves our interest best to do the unexpected," Thranduil told him, at which Feren looked even more confused for a moment before acknowledging the words with a cautious nod. While he might not understand Thranduil's motivation, he also didn't question his commands on a fundamental level. 

It took the soldiers not on picket duty hours in dim light of the new day to carry all the Orcs — they reached a final count of over a hundred — further into the woods and leave them in territory claimed by spiders. This was one of their more contested border regions, which Thranduil thought might have been the reason why the enemy had chosen this place for their … offering. Skirmishes happened frequently here in the expanse of the Woods they claimed, the one closest to Dol Guldur. Instead of supervising the grim task, Thranduil had joined his soldiers on watch, keeping an eye on the surroundings. It earned him a few confused glances, but everyone settled quickly back into their duties. 

The light of day was short lived at this time of the year and was waning already when they set out once more. Now some of the Elves behind Thranduil were talking in low voices, that soon fell quiet again, though. He heard Feren confer in hushed words with Ithril, heard her murmured response in tone more than words. 

It was long after noon of the next day when they arrived back at Thranduil's halls. "Have everyone rest," he told Feren. "And take some rest yourselves."

But Ithril followed him as he turned to leave. "This was not what is awaiting us."

"No," he answered, feeling almost weary. He knew if he went into the villages and the barracks he would see many lamps burning through the night. Elves had lived in darkness for a long time when the world had been young, but now they only thrived in light. "But it was a statement." When Ithril made to speak again he raised his hand. "Get some rest. I need to speak with the council. Whatever is coming, it will not find us in the coming night or day."

"Yes, my Lord," Ithril finally answered and turned around to take her leave. 

Thranduil exhaled and went to have Galion help him divest himself of his armour. He had not seen Bard as he had come in — who doubtlessly would have assisted him with similar efficiency — and he wanted to be rid of the metal encasing him. After a wash and a change of clothes, he went to the range where Galion had told him he might find his elusive dragonslayer. While the council assembled Thranduil might as well collect the King of Dale himself. 

Bard was inspecting some fletching when he entered, frowning down at a feathered shaft and manipulating it with some well-practised motions. The way he stood he favoured the perpetually troublesome knee, but that might be habit more than anything. He looked up as Thranduil came towards him and the arrow clattered to the floor when he set it down on a table and it rolled away. His eyes narrowed as he stepped towards him. "You're unharmed?"

"No one was harmed," Thranduil said and even to his own ears he sounded tired. "I might smell a little too much of dead Orc for comfort."

"I don't care about that," Bard told him and by now he had come close enough to grab Thranduil by the collar of his tunic and pull him in for a kiss that was hungry with tongue and teeth in all the right measures. Thranduil gave as good as he got, thanking whatever powers might be having a hand in this that they were alone, and by the time the kiss ended they were both thoroughly breathless.

Humming a little in contentment, Thranduil embraced Bard and kissed his temple before whispering in his ear somewhat regretfully, "Much as I appreciate the thought, we need to go talk to my council."

"We?" Bard echoed and pushed away from him a little, hands resting on his chest. Over the past decade, Bard had sat in on a few council sessions, but they had never made a habit of it. He didn't enjoy the exercise any more than Thranduil, and usually those sessions were much too mundane to bore him with them. Now his eyes narrowed. "Is that the reason for the fancy robes?"

With a grave nod and a much soberer attitude than just moments ago Thranduil agreed. "I would have you there and know your opinion after. I have questions for you that are an indirect consequence of this, too."

Sighing in resignation, Bard pulled him in for another kiss first, this one little more than a touch of lips. 

When they entered the council chamber a sizeable murmur had already started among the members of the council that only got louder when they spotted Bard with him. "This is not going to be easy to get done," Bard murmured almost inaudibly as Thranduil pressed him into the chair that was usually designated for the king, as Bard had never agreed to have his own seat. He rested a hand on his shoulder briefly.

"No," he answered just as quietly. "But this is why I am king." When Bard shot him a quizzical glance he smiled tightly and turned to the assembly before clearing his throat to call everyone else to order. "All of you know one of our patrols encountered a number of dead Orcs that none of our soldiers put there. We have to assume a secondary power at work within our territory and warranted my personal investigation. From this we have to consider opposition once more coming from the southern reaches of the forest, the fortress on Amon Lanc."

Nervous murmurs from the councillors in front of him, although Bard at his back remained quiet, as if he'd already suspected something like that. Finally, it was Núneth who spoke up, her tone as terse as the situation warranted, "What is your evidence for this?"

But Thranduil shook his head. "Call it an instinct if you will." Louder murmurs, the fact that he often knew more than he should was no secret in the Woodland Realm. "The location of the dump, as well as the peculiar timing and the fact that they all bear one straight thrust through the heart and no other wounds forces us to make assumptions. It is far more likely to be an act of whoever now occupies that fortress than to assume a third power has suddenly taken an interest in events this side of the Misty Mountains."

"You are pulling this out of thin air," Núneth accused him. When Thranduil remained silent she amended, "Let us assume that indeed it is Sauron sending an expedition force to Amon Lanc and to re-occupy Dol Guldur, why would they kill their own? What purpose does it serve?"

It was a good question, and while Thranduil had an idea, he was hesitant to voice it in front of the whole assembly yet; certainly such news would make its way through the villages in an instant. None of them could afford to put everyone on edge now, no matter how much or how little they agreed with Thranduil. "The enemy seeks to force our hand once more, presenting us with the fact that he has expandable forces with which to make a statement in this manner."

"Then what do you suppose we do? Double and triple the patrols, the watch, possible keep a curfew and pull our people back from outside settlements?" Her glanced brushed over Bard, then over Túrdirion representing the Elves of Dale. Nissë, Reinlân and Brennil each reflexively put their hands on their already lightly swollen bellies in protective instinct. "Is that your solution?"

"No," Thranduil told her. "This is an informative meeting, not one to take action. My proposal is that we proceed as we have, keep the patrol schedules, take our recesses. Implement the extended summer break. Proceed as we have, as if the incident had escaped our notice."

That suggestion brought even more noise to the chamber, it was strange how ten Elves — eleven if Núneth was counted also — could make that much ruckus. But Thranduil merely let it wash over him, waiting for it to die down. As he knew she would, Núneth eventually raised a hand to stay the others. "And how is this plan going to benefit us?"

"The enemy has no reason to make a true move now. By doing nothing, we defy his expectations. Something has yet to come into play that is dormant as of this moment. I see little merit in expanding energies towards something that is, with some luck, half a century or longer away." In the end the council could do nothing without his leave, but he had learned by taking his father's early reign as example that it was best not to even give them a reason to boycott him later.

The quiet rustle of clothes and the step of a boot behind him, and then Bard had taken a few strides towards them. "May I?" he inquired quietly, and while it was not usually done — or at least they had not established such a routine — Bard _was_ his consort and it was his right to speak in council if he wanted to. With a court gesture Thranduil invited him and Bad took another half step in front of him, which still maintained a position of authority over the council for Thranduil.

Silence so profound suddenly fell in the room that it was usually reserved for times when it wasn't occupied by breathing beings. 

Bard looked at all of them in turn and then shot a glance at Thranduil, the corner of his mouth rising infinitesimally, before turning back towards the council. "Three thousand years, give or take. I know the reckoning among Elves is much more precise, but the numbers are too monumental for me to grasp. Even so, I would assume that with such a record, you would have more faith. When was the last time he steered you wrong?"

A few of the councillors had the good grace to drop their gaze and look mildly embarrassed about being put to task by a mortal, consort or not. Núneth looked away and — almost unheard of — chuckled to herself. "Well," she finally acknowledged, "I suppose there is that fact to consider." Then she bowed at the precise angle she had to in accordance to all their stations. "If this was an informative meeting, is it adjourned then?"

"We will postpone any decisions until the spring. If we see no more events until then, I suggest we consider it a statement of intent and keep our watch. No less, but no more either."

He closed the meeting and as each of the councillors filed out they bowed. It wasn't unheard of, but usually they skipped these sorts of formalities; they had been working together in more or less unchanged settings for the past three millennia. By no means it was complacency, but Thranduil didn't need it to assert his authority. 

When they were alone Thranduil turned towards Bard and pressed a kiss to his temple. They stood in front of each other now and Bard took his hand. "You know I have no need for you to defend me within this assembly?"

"Oh, I know," Bard told him and returned the favour by ducking his head and kissing the underside of his jaw. "But occasionally I like to put Elves in their place. I don't get to do it anymore with regularity, they have gotten to know me too well in Dale. I find I quite miss it."

Thranduil laughed. After another moment and sighed and tugged Bard towards the door. "Maybe I shall send you Legolas."

"I have quite enough on my hands with one of your sons," Bard complained, but followed willingly. "Aldarion and Sigrid sent a message while you were gone, in Dale everything is peaceful." Thranduil nodded, not having expected anything else. A few steps down the hall and Bard bumped against him not quite accidentally. "You know, when I think about it … you do smell a little of dead Orc. What say you we check whether those private royal baths of yours are unoccupied?"

Of course it was possible that the reek of decomposing Orc still clung somewhere around his person, but Thranduil doubted it. But it was a nice way to put everything relating to this incident out of his mind for an hour or two and enjoy that offer. 

The topic resurfaced between them as they retired to bed. They'd had had a more than pleasant time in the baths, talking little to let action speak instead of words and causing the water to have to be drained. Now they were both warm and loose-limbed as they finished a nightcap of mulled wine.

Bard folded his clothes haphazardly in his hands and put them down on a chest next to his side of the bed. "Do you want to send a message back to the children?"

"Before we consider that…" Thranduil sighed. He did like the way Bard didn't even make a distinction between their families any longer, but they had more serious matters to discuss. Bard looked over at him, raised an eyebrow. "While I maintain my stance on what happened the last few days, it has also brought up another point. No doubt you know that the situation in Rohan will change before long. Will Dale be able to hold if the Rohirrim decide to go home?"

For a moment Bard seemed to hold his breath until he exhaled audibly. "You know how to pick your moments, don't you? Me naked and with nowhere to go, when this is a talk between kings." When Thranduil shot him a knowing smile and a shrug he sat down on the bed. Thranduil let him have this time and shrugged off the last of his clothes as well before climbing onto the bed on his own side. Eventually Bard continued, not looking at him, "I talked to some of them."

"You told me."

Grunting in acknowledgement Bard swung up his legs and shifted towards him to lie close but not yet touching. He looked at the ceiling and shook his head. "I'm not as naive as you might think." In answer Thranduil huffed, because while Bard was certainly not as experienced as other kings his age might be, _naive_ was not a term he would have used, but Bard ignored him. "The city's safety isn't as dependent on them anymore as it once was, and I know of some who will stay for sure and some who are thinking about it. Rohan is their home, but so is Dale and many of them have no idea whether something is still left for them. Their families are here, for most of them, and their trade. Of course it would hurt us if a third of the guard suddenly left, but I honestly can't see that happening."

"That does not answer my question," Thranduil reminded him.

Bard grinned. "I had a good teacher when it comes to evasive answers. Let's also not forget that it does help to have a proper Rohirric lord in the city at least some of the time, even if he goes gallivanting about with an Elf the rest of the year."

In all probability Bard would never admit it, but he did rest easier in Thranduil's realm this winter knowing Lucan and Aldarion were in Dale while Bain was absent. It reminded Thranduil of the last conversation he'd had with Lucan and as he reached out to touch Bard's face he said, "You know Lucan does not consider himself as such?"

"Yes, but he is a fool." Bard caught his eye and pushed into the touch a little. Thranduil couldn't help but grin. "What?"

"Try telling him those words some time, apparently he hears that a lot."

"Maybe he should believe us, then, I daresay we have more experience at life than him." He chuckled, but then sobered. "We will hold, unless you pull the Elves as well — as Núneth suggested — then I think we would be in a tight spot."

It bore contemplation, at least for a moment, but then Thranduil shook his head. "I honestly do not think it likely."

"What was that about then?" Bard pushed himself up on an elbow and frowned.

Leave it to the King of Dale to straight out ask him when it was something Thranduil would rather not even reveal to his council. But Bard deserved a proper answer and Thranduil had long stopped trying to disseminate with him. "As I told you in the council—" Bard shot him a look that told him exactly what he thought of that particular reiteration and he sighed. "I believe the enemy wants to wear us down with vigilance. And I refuse to do his bidding."

"You think this was a provocation."

"Of course I do. Sauron wants us to overplay our hand — us and possibly Lórien — so that we will be easy pickings later. If I let him do that I might as well hand over my kingdom now and sail." He knew his voice had come harder as he spoke, but Bard would know it was not directed at him. Still Thranduil reached out and took his hand.

Silence fell between them for a long moment in which Bard seemed to digest his words. Then his eyes took on a determined look. "Do I have to be worried?"

Thranduil studied him. The question had layers, but he decided to ignore the one asking about his decision to remain in Middle-earth as that was very much not worth any sort of discussion. As for the safety of Dale... 

Doubtlessly Sauron was playing a long game; any significant action would be years, decades off yet. Which was why to him it was important to start now. The possibly most significant siege against Melkor had lasted for centuries, though Thranduil doubted that Sauron had the breath for it, especially in his weakened state. Still, he was a Maia and not to be trifled with. Yet he would not waste his limited energies on agitating a short-lived people such as Men for an extended period, who had shown remarkable versatility and thrived even in the face of adversary. And for Bard that was only insofar significant as that he shouldn't cross him directly, and even for someone as contrary as the reigning King of Dale that would be hard to do. 

So Thranduil leaned in and kissed him quickly, making his single next word not quite a promise, but giving him as much reassurance as he would. "No."

Bard pondered that for a moment, searching for something in his eyes. There was not much to do for Thranduil but let him, and eventually Bard reached out and cupped his face with one hand, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. "You can feel it, don't you? Whatever it is that is going on in the forest, that's what had you on edge, not the Orcs. Still does."

"I know what it is now, it changes matters," he explained and turned his head fractionally to kiss Bard's palm in reassurance. "The forest is my land, of course it affects me. It is within our nature." At least the whole of Greenwood should have been his land, and while his father had strategically retreated from Amon Lanc and Thranduil had been forced to surrender territory when the shadow fell, he had never relinquished his claim entirely. What went on within the borders of the trees affected him — not always equally, he had intended for Thorin to see the full effect of it, though it seemed to have made little impression on that obstinate Dwarf. Yet Thranduil also hoped that his people's presence helped the forest fight the effects of Dol Guldur and whatever had taken residence there now. "We are stronger for it, even if we at times have to live with the consequences."

For what it was worth, Bard seemed to take that at face value, knowing him too long and too well to argue for more. He nodded and apparently decided at least steer away from those topics, because his next words went on a tangent. "When do you suppose we will see the spring thaw?"

"A few weeks yet." Maybe he was anxious to get back, and under the circumstances Thranduil probably shouldn't blame him.

But Bard hummed as if he had expected an estimate such as that. Reaching out, he softly rapped his knuckles against Thranduil's chest. "Whatever shall we do with the time?"

Thranduil raised a deliberate eyebrow. They had been quite adventurous in the baths, but still Bard seemed to have some idea when he leaned in and Thranduil let himself be pushed into the mattress.

~*~

Spring had come to Dale when Thranduil woke the first time to Bard rolling out of bed, taking a small warm body with him, mumbling something about parents being responsible to receive night-time visits. Eryn didn't seem enthused and complained, but Bard hushed her with a few words. Outside dawn was slowly rising over the landscape; it was too early yet even in a busy kingdom such as Dale. Thranduil turned onto his stomach, folding his arms under the pillow and resting his head on top of it. He decided to doze until Bard returned, and maybe by then they would both be awake enough to negotiate some early-morning intimacies. Tonight the feast would run long, and no one said they could not make the most out of this unexpected time together.

True to their new arrangement he had returned Bard to his own dwellings — albeit with some reluctance. As time dragged on he found himself more disinclined to do that; it wasn't that he begrudged Bard his own duties — much to the contrary — but he found their time of separation increasingly disagreeable. Less than a fortnight after Thranduil had returned from Dale a bird had found him sent by _Bain_ , inviting him to a feast honouring his betrothal.

Thranduil had been intrigued, especially since, upon questioning, the bird had mentioned it had been sent not from Dale, but en route towards that kingdom. That meant Bard was probably in for a surprise. Sigrid would no doubt pick out a suitable piece of jewellery for her future sister-in-law once she met her, meaning tradition would be observed, but Sigrid was practical to her very core. Her father, on the other hand, had likely not expected his son to bring back not just new diplomatic relations, but also a betrothed. At least that might be an explanation why Bain had only sent a very few messages their way over the past year. 

The second time Thranduil woke it was to the sound of the door closing quietly and Bard's familiar steps on the floor covered in woven rushes. He hadn't planned on falling asleep again, but more time must have passed than he had bargained on at first, marked by the brightness of the room. The sound of a clay mug being set down on the low footstool next to the bed and the bitter smell of tea told him Bard hadn't been idle. Then his hair was brushed aside and a kiss dropped on his shoulder blade. When he opened his eyes a slit, Bard crouched next to the bed and smiled. 

"There was no need for you to make me tea."

Humming, Bard leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I know. But you made me ale. I can make you tea."

"You sound as if I made the ale myself," Thranduil told him with a chuckle and obligingly made room when Bard clambered on top of the mattress next to him. He had pulled on a long tunic to leave the room that he now discarded. A few minor rearrangements later Thranduil leaned against Bard's shoulder, enjoying the way fingers were run through his hair. The tea would keep for a moment.

"Better you didn't." The tone way dry and it made Thranduil crack a smile. "We should go down soon, we have a feast to prepare."

"You have yet to grasp the concept of being king," Thranduil chided softly. "It means you should show your crowned head, preferably freshly bathed, shaved, and properly attired. It does not mean menial labour by your own hands, it sends the signal the kingdom is not doing well."

Bard sighed in frustration and turned to press a kiss to his head. "I know. But Sigrid is already up, I don't think Bain and Miniel will be long."

"Sigrid has two small children." Thranduil glanced at him dubiously, then reached over to take the tea. Careful not to spill any on Bard's lap, he sat up properly and took a sip, made an appreciative sound. "And I would assume Bain and Miniel have better things to do."

"Not necessarily something I would want to know about."

Hiding his grin with another sip of tea, Thranduil could tell him what he had heard last night, but opted not to. He cared little; he would grant his foster children the same discretion he would grant to his own people — and after all, those two were betrothed, customs had been observed, it was little more than formality now. "Do you think she has found her wits again?"

Thranduil had arrived back in Dale a few days after the message, but that had been enough time for Bain and his entourage to arrive as well. Apparently Bain had told the girl that Dale's relations to the Woodland Realm were close and an alliance was in place, but he had neglected to tell her that those relations were downright intimate. That meant she had not only needed to deal with far more Elves living in Dale than she had expected, but also the fact that the families of the King of Dale and the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm had merged long ago.

Overall Bain would hardly have picked her were she not supremely capable. Likewise she — the only daughter if a minor noble without the ability to provide her with a dowry — would not have made it all the way across the wilderland with little more than a personal guard otherwise. Yet the kiss Thranduil had dropped onto Bard's lips in passing had made her excuse herself. Neither she nor Bain had been seen for the rest of the evening, though it had not remained uncommented. It had not been flight so much as a strategic retreat, and Bain probably had had some explaining to do as to why he had not forewarned her.

"Let's hope so," Bard answered now. "Otherwise I have my doubts she will stand under the full onslaught of our children's personalities."

It probably would be embarrassing for Thranduil to choke on tea and perish that way, not to mention that it would probably have provoked a diplomatic incident, so he valiantly swallowed what was left and suppressed a cough. Bard laughed and stroked over his back. In answer Thranduil grumbled wordlessly, then finished the tea and turned his head for a proper kiss.

Because Bard still laughed Thranduil pressed in further, taking the kiss from firm to demanding, kissed him until he had their legs entangled and Bard pulled down with him. He lay half on top of Bard, a warm hand resting on his back, fingers being wound into his hair. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Bard murmured against his lips.

"Making the most of being in your bed," Thranduil answered and underlined his point with a sharp nip. Then he sobered, however, pressed his lips once more against Bard's, almost chaste, and settled. "We need to talk."

Bard let out a laugh that sounded halfway to pained. "Now?"

Nodding, Thranduil made himself comfortable, idly petting. "I plan to pardon Tauriel." When Bard's expression was nothing short of surprised, Thranduil stroked some hair off his forehead. "I imagine she will stay here, I know she is comfortable here and your family is important to her. But I think it is time, and she has conducted her duties as well as she could and earned to come back. At least to visit."

A frown spread on Bard's face and he shook his head. "Why are you telling me? She's yours."

"No she is not," Thranduil told him with a sigh. "That is the whole point. She still is of Dale."

"Well, I hardly own her." He shifted and disentangled his hand, then stroked the pointed arch of Thranduil's ear with his thumb before cupping his face. "And as far as I am concerned, what is mine is yours anyway."

For a long moment he studied Bard, face lined a little deeper than it had been years ago, but mind and tongue just as sharp. Their frequent absences in their lives were starting to make themselves known, and he knew it was beginning to weigh on both their hearts. It was not a new awareness for Thranduil, but it began to stir inside of him again. An idea had begun to dawn on him this past winter, one he had not examined in the light of day, dismissing it as not feasible. Still, if it were possible…

He shoved it back down and instead leaned in for another kiss. In answer he chose a variation he might return to later. "In that case we need to re-negotiate our treaty."

Chuckling, Bard shook his head and reached out, stretching a little and Thranduil shifted his weight to let him reach for the little bottle on the footstool next to his bed. "I thought you didn't want to do that for _at least_ a generation." 

"It seems the situation has changed." He arched into the touch when Bard let his hand travel down his back again, along the dip of his spine and then lower. His fingers were slick with oil and the touches turned from a light caress to teasing. Thranduil felt himself accommodate to the pressure, the rhythm until it was changed and he moaned quietly when Bard pressed deeper. This was not quite the seriousness the situation warranted, but far be it from him to put a stop to it. He could ponder implications later.

"Has it? Interesting." Now Bard leaned up to repay the nip to his lips, returned to a shallower rhythm to draw it out. "How about we start those negotiations now, my Lord Elvenking?"

"An excellent idea, my Lord King of Dale."

It was a long while yet before they went to break their fast, thought it was not in truth very late in the morning. Sigrid had always been an early riser, and Cúthalion went with her rhythm while the children would be done already. Eryn was old enough to watch her little brother for a little while and give her parents some breathing room. Tilda on the other hand was a late sleeper and apparently still abed. Lucan and Aldarion had established their own pattern for their days, but seemed agreeable to take breakfast with the others. The prince and future princess of Dale sat at the table as well, and Miniel seemed to be in an animated discussion with Lucan; in fact the Rohirrim would be a culture she would know well.

"Brave enough," Bard muttered behind him, letting his hand fall away from Thranduil's shoulder. He answered with a noncommittal sound that nonetheless made Aldarion look up from his sweetened porridge, a staple food in the Bard's household on the morning of a feast. This made Lucan take notice and glance up as well, briefly nodding at them before finishing his answer to Miniel. 

She turned her head and got up to turn around when she spotted them. "My Lords," she said and made to bow before Bain pulled her back onto the bench.

"You really don't need to do that," he whispered to her.

"Yes, I do," she answered, a stubborn tone in her voice and a frown on her face that made Thranduil smile wryly and catch Bard's eye. He saw Bard biting his lip in return and got a wink for his troubles. 

As Thranduil took his customary seat on Bard's left, he sighed in exaggeration. "Would that everyone in this household honoured us that much."

Down the table Aldarion and Lucan rolled their eyes at each other, while Cúthalion shook in silent laughter. Sigrid elbowed her husband in the ribs, but before she could say anything Bain spoke up, eyes glittering in amusement across from him. "You would be bored out of your mind."

"If I want anyone to be contrary I go to my council."

"Who are essentially humouring you."

"How do you know it is not me doing the humouring?" Thranduil challenged and saw the way Miniel stared in horrified fascination between them before she noticed everyone else had kept eating. 

A frown spread on her face and she turned to Sigrid on her right, whispering, "Is this normal?"

Sigrid laughed quietly and swallowed the last spoonful of her porridge. "Quite."

It made Miniel sigh and shake her head in resignation while Bard looked at both Thranduil and Bain at his left and right respectively. "We don't normally discuss matters of state first thing in the morning."

"Since when?" Sigrid and Aldarion asked in one voice and Bain snorted. 

With an indulgent smile Bard turned to Miniel. "Do you regret your coming here yet?"

She laughed in genuine amusement and shook her head. "As courts go, this is definitely one of the saner ones," she said. "In Minas Tirith the mood is often … strained. My father took me and my brothers a few times, and I have never seen a grander city, but Dale feels more at ease."

"I suppose we have a shorter history to live up to," Bard said mildly and she nodded. "Maybe Thranduil's realm would be a better comparison."

"You are, of course, welcome to visit," Thranduil added in the voice of a king and Bard kicked him lightly under the table without even looking at him. He kept his foot pressed to his leg afterwards, gently moving up and down.

Miniel cleared her throat and nodded. 

Aldarion chose that moment to steer breakfast conversation away from those grand topics. "You will be happy to know that foaling will be starting soon and the Rohirrim expect quite an expansion of the herds. Any colts they sell should turn a good profit."

At this Lucan nodded and added, "In the next few years they will bring in fresh blood, but I suppose they have yet to decide whether that should be brought in from Rohan. Some of us would prefer it, while others see it as problematic."

All the Rohirrim in Dale were exiles and no official relations existed with King Fengel — even though Bain had apparently met and become friendly with Prince Thengel, Lucan's brother, who also was in exile — so taking in fresh blood from Rohan would constitute a problem. But Thranduil was in truth more interested in what Bain would have to say about the heir in exile, since that tale had not been something they had spoken of last night. 

"Speaking of horses," Miniel said and carefully placed her spoon in her empty bowl. She leaned forward to look across the table at Lucan. "My mare seems to have developed a strange knack that worries me a little. She always only let me ride her and no one else, but I feel it has gotten worse. I suppose you're something of an expert on horses, Lucan, I'm glad you will be here for a few more days. Would you have a look at her?"

She turned to Bain then to smile and move her head to the door, a silent question whether he would accompany her as well. In answer Bain brushed his fingers over her hand, kept rubbing gentle circle over the back of it before slipping an arm around her. "I'll be a moment."

During this brief exchange Lucan had recovered from his initial surprise and shrugged. "Of course." He paused, glanced around the table and seemed to make a decision. "Now?"

"Yes, that would be great," she said, then leaned in to kiss Bain on the cheek and extricated herself from the loose hold he had taken around her waist. A playful tussle followed until she stood properly and stepped away from the bench. Bain glanced after her with deep affection as Lucan let her precede towards the door. Aldarion shrugged and followed them, always curious about the horse skills of the Rohirrim … and obviously one Rohir in particular.

A bell tolled in the city and Cúthalion got up. "I'm on watch until the feast." He turned to Sigrid. "I'll find you? Amáriël agreed to take the children tonight."

She nodded, hand dropping away from his shoulder. "I have those children to look after now, though." She got up and stepped behind her brother to hug him in a way she had done already when both of them had been much younger. "I like her," she whispered into his ear and he gently squeezed her wrist in thanks. 

When she left the kitchen — after tousling her brother's hair — Bain sighed in contentment, then glanced at Bard and Thranduil. 

"You seem happy," Bard told him, "I'm glad."

"Thanks, Da." Bain beamed. "I am. Going there I did not expect to find her, but I can't imagine being without her now. If nothing else had come out of that trip, she alone would have been worth it."

Bard smiled indulgently. "Good. You deserve to be happy, and she seems to have taken everything very much in stride. Even if you didn't prepare her."

As reprimands went, it was a mild one. But Bain merely shrugged. "Do you think she would have believed me if I told her the Elvenking of Mirkwood was my foster father and my father's consort? Those rumours have not made their way that far south."

"Rumours?" Thranduil asked, mildly scandalised. He would have thought that talk much more substantial than mere rumours could be heard downriver, especially since Dale's expansion down the Celduin. But then his own realm had not been dealing much with Gondor even before the Stewards had taken the place of the kings for all intents and purposes. 

Bain shrugged. "Most don't even know the Dwarves are back, even though they have heard that Smaug is dead."

"And that with so much commerce going through the north." Bard shook his head. But the north had always been neglected by the realms of the south, so Thranduil should probably not be surprised. Now Bard sighed and pushed himself up as well. He dropped a kiss on Thranduil's lips, a reminder and a promise. "I have to be kingly for a while, I still haven't caught up on all the things the children have commissioned during the winter. They make a fearsomely efficient team."

While that was true, Bard was exaggerating. Both Sigrid and Aldarion had kept them well appraised of the goings on in Dale over the cold season. Most commissions had been repairs of one kind or another, or part of Dáin's excavation project. 

When Bard had left Bain looked up at Thranduil and it was that moment that he understood that Bain and Miniel had schemed for this, to give Bain a chance to speak to both of them. It bode well for their marriage. "Da looks well. How has he been?"

Thranduil studied him for a moment. "As well as can be. None of us can stop time, and I keep fixing that knee…" Among other things, but he had not decided whether those were serious or not. Likely not, yet if this eased the burden that age would eventually become, he would continue to do so. It helped that Bard had finally seen that everyone would benefit if he took better care of himself. "But your father is strong and too stubborn for anything less."

"I guess it helps he has someone to look out for him," Bain added dryly, but softened his words with a smile. "I'm glad, Ada. I also should probably go and find Miniel before Lucan steals her away."

"I cannot tell you whether that could be a genuine concern or not."

Laughing Bain shook his head. "Maybe you should ask sometime like the rest of us did. Still I will not take my chances."

"Bain." When he glanced up Thranduil frowned. "How _did_ it go in Gondor?"

The question made Bain's lips twitch in some private amusement he was obviously unwilling to share. "You don't think I only brought back a bride, did you? I believe my news are worth waiting for. We have an announcement at the feast tonight, it's another reason why I wanted you here."

Thranduil rolled his eyes, Bain had truly taken one too many lessons from the Elves around him, probably including Thranduil himself. Sighing, he pushed away his porridge bowl and pondered whether to break the news to Tauriel before the feast. However, that might take away from Bain's news — that she doubtlessly was aware of already, after all she had travelled with him for a year. Tomorrow would be soon enough. 

That evening the feast was in full swing even before the sun went down, and as twilight spread over the sky Miniel came to Thranduil and Bard. They had been standing together in front of the great hall to look at how the drinking and laughter had spilled onto the streets. Torches and lamps were set into wall sconces, brightening the quickly gathering dark.

"My lords." Miniel smiled and bowed at an angle just enough to convey respect. "If you would follow me?"

When Thranduil looked at Bard, the King of Dale merely shrugged and reached for his hand to pull him along. It earned them a few benevolently amused glances from Men and Elves alike — Dwarves generally ignored them — but aside from some people following them curiously, no one accosted them.

Miniel led them to the central fountain square where Bain was already waiting, talking to Dáin and one of his cousins Thranduil recognised as Glóin. He had led the delegation that had studied the designs of Thranduil's halls to emulate them under Dale. Bain pulled Miniel into an embrace with an arm around her shoulders and kissed the corner of her mouth. Then he nodded at his father and Thranduil, who came to stand on his left, just a few steps away to be able to see what would happen.

Also in attendance were Sigrid and Tilda, Tauriel, Lucan and Aldarion as well as several of the Rohirric generals that constituted a significant part of Dale's military high command. People of Dale, Erebor and Rohan were milling around, Men and Elves and Dwarves, drinking and laughing. 

Bain cleared his throat and a horn sounded, blown by Feren to call the assembly to order. Voices quieted and Bain looked around, nodding in satisfaction. "We all love a good feast!" He raised his goblet and the people of Dale and the Rohirrim cheered, making Bain grin. "You all know the purpose of our celebration tonight, since the wonderful and beautiful Miniel of Erui has done me to honour to agree to marry me, following me all across the Wilderlands to join me here in my duties in Dale!" More cheering and Bain kissed her again, fully on the mouth this time and she kissed him back laughing. "We will celebrate our marriage a year from now, to keep with the customs of all the free people living peacefully together in Dale!"

Thranduil didn't think he had ever seen Men, Elves and Dwarves call out quite like this in one voice, calling cheers and congratulations. Miniel smiled cheerfully and took a half step to the front. "When Bain first came to Gondor with a guard consisting both of Northmen and Elves, not few of us in Gondor were surprised. Much time has passed since Gondor has been graced by the presence of Elves, and those of us of Númenorean blood listened to his tales of the peaceful coexistence of Men and Elves and Dwarves here in the north with wonder. When my father invited this young prince to stay with us I did not expect to follow him here, but as the months passed and I got to know him, I saw the strong and generous man he is and could not find it in my heart to know he would leave one day and I would not follow. 

"I thank you, the Men and Elves and Dwarves of the north for receiving me with so much enthusiasm and grace, and hope you will take me into your hearts as you have done with your king and his family. Gondor is proud to call the Kingdom of Dale and the slayer of the bane of our ancestors friend and ally, to support and rely on in ages to come."

Everyone cheered again, louder and longer this time, until Bain turned and said something to Feren, who blew his horn again.

"Thank you!" Bain cheered. "Yet that is not all I came to tell you this night. I was received in Gondor by the Stewart, who extends his greetings to my father the king. In the weeks and months I spent at court we worked out a mutually beneficial contract concerning trade and borders." He turned to Miniel, who took his goblet from him and handed him a folded piece of parchment. "As many of you — especially our Rohirric friends and families — know, Gondor has become a place of refuge for the Rohirrim as well. In Minas Tirith at the court of the Stewart I met Thengel, heir to the crown of Rohan, currently in exile very much like many of you."

That elicited a ripple of voices in the crowd that only died down very slowly. Thranduil saw Lucan frown at this news, though he probably should have expected that, then he turned to Aldarion to say something under his breath. It appeared that Lucan then wanted to leave, but Aldarion shook his head and wrapped a hand around his wrist to keep him back. 

"Let me finish!" Bain called with laughter in his voice and raised his hand. "I know the Rohirrim stand to their word, yet the Steward Turgon counselled Thengel and me to set up a contract to govern the time when Thengel would take the crown. To the Rohirrim in our midst, I will tell you now that when times have become quieter, you are welcome to return to your homeland or remain in Dale. We agreed that you and yours will always have two homes: Rohan's wide sea of grass and the tall walls of the Kingdom of Dale." He cleared his throat again to still the disbelieving whispers that had cropped up. "When I met Thengel I considered him a more than reasonable man, tall and firm in his stance, a man of integrity and bearing. It left me with one more matter weighing on my heart and I decided to speak with him about it." 

He turned so he could keep Lucan in his sight. "Lucan, you have proven yourself time and again as a friend, not just to me and of course to Aldarion, but to my sisters and my people. Long before we knew who you were, you had earned our trust and our friendship with your advice and your unwavering presence, and I know I speak for my father and for King Thranduil as well when I say we are proud to call you a part of our family." 

By this time Lucan's eyes had gone wide and he shifted around uncomfortably. It might have been because of who he had been taught he was in the hierarchy of Rohan, but Lucan had never liked attention. Now the regard of countless eyes rested on him. Thranduil didn't pity him, for he had an inkling of what might be coming … that was also why he wouldn't reprimand Bain for presuming to speak for him, even if it had been a kind of truth. 

Bain continued, "But while that is true, we cannot hope to truly replace what you have lost so long ago, the grassy planes to which you were born. When I spoke of you to Thengel he was upset at what had been done to you and while he has little power now…"

Bain stepped towards Lucan and extended the parchment towards him. Thranduil heard him say, a little incredulous, "What are you doing?"

"I'm bringing you home," Bain answered just as quietly before he spoke up once more, for all to hear. "Thengel asked me to give this to you; it is a document you may carry or store, lifting your exile and the order of your immediate execution on sight as soon as he will take up the crown. You may return on your own volition. He openly names you brother and restores you to your heritage. He also bade me to inform you that you have a young nephew who he would like to meet his uncle."

He finally handed the parchment to Lucan, who received it with trembling hands, but nodded firmly. An answering cheer came from the ranks of the Rohirrim that was quickly taken up by others, making Lucan look around in clear confusion. It was Aldarion who stepped around to embrace him, whispering low words into his ear and Lucan's own arms went around Aldarion as he let out a long breath that appeared long pent up. Probably it was, for in the foreseeable future a death sentence would be taken off his shoulders, and he would be welcome among his own again. Aldarion framed his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead before placing hands on his shoulders and steering him towards the waiting crowd who wanted to celebrate.

Meanwhile Bain looked smug as he turned to his siblings; Sigrid was laughing at him, pulling him into an embrace while Tilda shook her head, a smile on her face. On the far side Tauriel looked content and turned to walk away, and Thranduil decided if it was a night for forgiveness he might as well grant his own. He turned to Bard and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Go and be proud of him," he said, "I need to speak with Tauriel."

Bard nodded. "I will come find you."

Instead of lingering, Thranduil took several strides towards where Tauriel was walking and called her name. When she glanced behind her he told her, "Walk with me, I have something to tell you."

Tilda and Bain came to him the toll of a bell later. He raised both eyebrows at them and took a sip of his wine, wondering where Miniel might be. But Bain would have a good reason to leave her to fend for herself.

"We heard about Tauriel," Tilda told him.

Bain nodded. "We had hoped for it. She has been a tremendous help while I was traveling, I will miss her."

"I doubt you will lose her," Thranduil answered; Tauriel had expressed as much, but it was a decision she should tell Bard and Bain herself. Instead he changed the topic. "You did a kindness to Lucan."

For a moment Bain was silent, then sighed. "Thengel didn't know. I hope Lucan will believe that. He said if it he had known what their father would do, he would have sought for his brother and brought him to Gondor. He couldn't believe Fengel would leave his own son to that kind of fate. He couldn't have known Aldarion would happen along."

The cruelties Men could inflict on their own kind would never cease to amaze Thranduil, but at the same time he had witnessed kindness and compassion that any day could outweigh the savagery. He glanced at his foster children, now grown even though to him they would always be children. "We were all fortunate, then."

Bain gave him a nod in answer, then pressed his lips together. "He won't go, will he?"

Seeking for the Rohir in question in the mass of revellers, Thranduil spotted him among his own people, toasting them with ale and smiling slightly at something one of the generals told him. Aldarion stood by at a distance with a small smile of his own, leaning back against the wall of a house with a torch flickering nearby.

"It seems unlikely," he eventually said. "To visit, certainly, but by now he appears to have chosen a different life for himself. Much like most of the Rohirrim living here now."

"It has been a long time," Bain mused and amended when he caught Thranduil's amused glance, "at least for us mortals."

"Their home is here," Tilda said firmly.

Her brother muttered, "Home is where you make it."

At this Tilda looked contemplative. Waiting for them to say more, Thranduil sipped his wine. Eventually she shot a glance at her brother, who nodded.

"Ada, I talked to Bain, and I would have your support."

He sighed. "The last time your father said those words to me I ended up tending Dale and he got a sword thrust through his leg for his troubles. You might remember that time."

A hard grin appeared in her face. "Nothing like that." She frowned. "I hope." When he shot her a questioning look, she shrugged. "I asked Lucan and he said if he ever goes, he will take me with him to Rohan. But that might be years and I know that, though from there then I could go anywhere, across the mountains or to Harad. But until that time I would go to Duinhir. When you send the shipment, I will accompany it."

"Tilda—"

But she shook her head. "You will send guards, won't you? You and Da. I will be perfectly safe."

Silently he regarded her for a while; he remembered Bard talking about her impatience, about her frustration at something that never came to pass. She raised her chin in stubborn defiance of any counter arguments he might make and when he looked at Bain he shrugged. "You know we won't stop her."

That was likely true, for once Tilda had made up her mind there was no going back. Thranduil felt as if he might develop what Men might call a headache. 

"Ada," she prompted.

Thranduil emptied his cup of wine, wishing for a fresh one. "You will break his heart," he told her. "And I will make you no promises when it comes to that."

But she shook her head in clear denial. "You don't need to worry about me, as long as you don't go breaking it." 

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Thranduil was actually taken aback enough to be momentarily speechless, giving Bain the time to scowl and box his sister against the arm in firm reprimand. "We aren't actually worried about that."

For a brief moment Thranduil debated whether to argue with the two of them about that comment, but then decided against it. This was even less than idle talk, for both knew very well Thranduil had no intentions to go anywhere. But for years Tilda had tried to get a rise out of him, now was not the moment he would give in. Instead he put on a stern expression. "You will tell this to him yourself. I doubt he will stop you, because he wants you to be happy, yet you will look him in the eye when he learns of this. This is your responsibility. And you will come back."

She took a breath to defy him, then caught the downright stormy expression on her brother's face and rolled her eyes. "Of course I will come back! Why would you even question that?" 

In a way Bard was right, Tilda was by far the most adventurous of her siblings, for even Bain seemed content now, having achieved something that might define his tasks as prince from now on. None of them could stop her if she truly wanted to leave, yet if Thranduil could remind her of her inherent sense of filial duty it might change that particular flavour of her travels. And this assurance would go a long way towards putting Bard at ease when she told him, too.

After a moment she took another break to compose herself, scowled and turned to go. 

With a shake of his head Thranduil looked at Bain. "You should make sure she talks to your father, too. Not tonight, though. Did you have something else you wanted to speak about?"

Bain exhaled and surveyed the streets laid out in front of them, the revellers passing them by in good cheer. "When I was in Gondor I realised how much I don't know yet. I missed Da pointing me in the right direction, and your advice. Turgon and Thengel were kind and generous, but they had their own agenda in mind and I found myself floundering a few times. Without Tauriel to provide perspective I would not have known where to turn, especially at the beginning." He caught Thranduil's eye and cracked a lopsided smile. "I can only imagine how relieved Da was to have you at his side when everyone wanted him to be their lord."

In truth Bard had seethed more than just a little for Thranduil's interference, especially when he had insisted Bard was the best choice to be Lord of Dale. "He was not exactly enthused when Dáin and I conspired to make him king."

Laughing, Bain conceded that point. "I remember." Then he bowed. "Still I thank you for all you have done for my family. And I hope to rely on your good counsel in the future."

It clearly was a night for many things, forgiveness as well as surprises, and Thranduil shook his head in exasperation, reached out and pulled Bain back up. "You know you will have it."

Nodding, Bain grinned at him and then took his leave, presumably to look for his betrothed. When Thranduil spotted her she was deep in talk with Bard and Sigrid and he had to admire Bain a little, for it had been a good tactic to show his people that she was accepted by his family already. Straining his hearing, he could just make out Bard's voice, ingrained so deeply on his soul that he would recognise it anywhere, asking about the details of the Gondorian court. 

Thranduil decided to leave them to it, held out his cup to a passing attendant to refill his wine and climbed the streets towards the palace. As usual during feasts the hill proper was cordoned off and guarded by Men and Elves alike and he stopped to speak with several of them. None reported anything out of the ordinary, though unanimously told him they hoped the Rohirrim would stay and how glad they were for Bain to be back and that Thranduil and the council attended the feast.

Satisfied, he traced the city streets to the wall and down the hill once more. The moon was out by now in its full glory, adding to the starlight to illuminate the palace hill. It was a good night, though summer was far off and most Men were bundled in coats to ward off the cold. He found a vantage point away from the crowd, sipped his wine and surveyed the revellers. His eyes found Bard easily, standing with Ithril and Lucan now. Off to one side were Sigrid and Cúthalion exchanging quiet words, his arm slung around her shoulders. They radiated contentment and Thranduil hoped that they could retain that feeling for as long as possible. 

Thranduil's gaze returned to Bard, who looked mortified, though Lucan appeared to be barely suppressing a laugh and Ithril grinned. While he couldn't fathom what had passed between them, it still made him smile. Bain was right, Bard looked well, and Thranduil could say this even though he had now seen him every day for three months. It gladdened his heart to see him like this, competent and comfortable in his skin, and it made him loathe the thought of riding back to his own halls alone a few days hence. 

In that moment Ithril took her leave with a little mocking bow, and one of the Rohirric generals took her place, who first bowed to Lucan and then to Bard. That development was intriguing enough that Thranduil might have joined them, but was kept back by an all too familiar voice.

"Do you not think it strange, that once our people could not find Elu Thingol for seven years and were not unduly worried?" Núneth asked lightly, but added in a contemplative tone, "Yet even more so, the kingdom might have grown all the stronger for it."

The words gave Thranduil pause, for it wasn't as if he had never considered it. At different times, under different circumstances he might have wondered at the possibility. But now… He exhaled and shook his head. "Those were times of peace."

"Perhaps," she agreed, but Thranduil knew she had more reason than idle chatter to seek him out. He had known Núneth for a long time, she had helped shepherd survivors over the Blue Mountains during the War of Wrath. While Thranduil would never admit it out loud, Duinhir falling for her daughter had been close to an ideal outcome. Now she shrugged. "The winters you spend among us are long though, and you would not be lost to us come spring or summer or autumn. It bears thinking about. Possibly a better use of the time at hand, do you not think so?"

In truth so far Thranduil had not dared to regard it as a feasible option. A case could be made, of course — and had been made in a different situation — for Dale to be an associate territory of the Woodland Realm. Yet Thranduil was loathe to call it that, for it would make Bard a client king, which very obviously he wasn't. Still, it opened the option for Thranduil to temporarily rule from Dale, if that was his wish. 

He glanced sidelong at Núneth. "You merely seek more power for the council so you can rule in my absence."

Smiling indulgently, she sipped her wine and let her eyes rake over the crowd. "Even if that were so ... it would not change the veracity of my words." She paused and then said, "I imagine the Elves settled here would not be averse to seeing more of their king."

"We only just changed the schedule of the council sessions and have been accosted by a likely hostile power. There is no way I can abandon my people now." He shook his head. No matter his feelings on the matter, he could not put them before his duties.

"Thranduil." She frowned and when he remained silent she added, "Do both of us a favour and stop being obtuse. The council is easily rescheduled once more, which we will have to do regardless to accommodate for our mothers-to-be. Even not taking that into consideration, everyone knows we will not see major enemy activity in the next decades. You even said that yourself. I have serious doubts anyone would feel abandoned because you grasp the grace extended to you and hold on to it for as long as circumstances allow you to."

Bard's gaze found him in that moment and though Thranduil could be little more than a vague figure to his vision — distance and night-time conspired against him — he raised his eyebrows in question. Thranduil had to breathe to ease an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. Then he shook his head in answer to them both. "We will speak of this at another time." Núneth sought to argue but he stilled her with a sharp glance. "You have been heard."

For a long moment she studied him, but then nodded. "Yes, my Lord. And please, stop being a fool."

She turned away from him and let herself be caught in conversation by another Elf, leaving Thranduil to his own thoughts. He didn't want to leave Dale by himself; it was a thought that was easy to articulate to himself, but should have been impossible to make a reality. Dale needed her king, that was beyond clear whenever Thranduil saw any of her inhabitants interact with Bard. To Thranduil, on the other hand, it felt it improper to leave his own halls for three quarters of the year, to only return in winter. 

Yet he pondered it nonetheless. Certainly some adjustments would be needed if it came to pass, matters of state and office, of ruling remotely. Replacing the quiet stillness of his halls with the constant bustle of a city like Dale would present its own challenges, yet curiously the idea seemed almost within grasp. 

"The head pixie!" It was Dáin calling out behind him, coming to stand with him a moment later. "How unlike you to stray so far from the center of the feast and the wine."

"How little you know me," Thranduil told him. "Not that I am surprised, you Dwarves are famous for your ignorance."

Dáin huffed, though it sounded not the least insulted. "Mayhaps you should strive to better my perception of you."

"Would you like me to invade Erebor?" It was a step up from their usual exchange of insults, but the King under the Mountain also wasn't usually in the habit of seeking out the Elvenking for idle chatter. Thranduil, in turn, didn't like the halls of the Mountain, where no daylight penetrated the gloom and no glimmer of stars might ever be seen.

At first Dáin said nothing, and had Thranduil known the nature of Dwarves less well he would have thought he actually considered that. But Dáin gauged him from below for long moments before he spoke. "There is always the option to increase your presence in Dale."

"You want _more_ Elves to settle here?" He knew it sounded incredulous and as if Dáin had caught him off guard, though he couldn't help it. That was not something he had ever expected to hear from a Dwarf.

Sighing heavily in disappointment, Dáin shook his head at him. "Mahal spare me your ignorance, I thought noble sprites like yourself were meant to be wise. Granted, we have always had our doubts about the Mirkwood strain. You already had one of your ilk ensnare Sigrid, and neither of us needs another incident like Tauriel and Kíli. No, pixie, but I will not dispute the Elvenking's continuous residence in Dale."

This was too coincidental for Thranduil's liking, so close on the heels of his talk with Núneth. Forehead creased, he looked down at Dáin and asked cautiously, "What brought this on?"

Stubbornness was one of Dáin's defining characteristics, one he shared with all Dwarves Thranduil had ever met. But even the steadfast exterior of the King under the Mountain could develop cracks, it seemed, and Dáin shifted a little uncomfortably and didn't look at Thranduil. "I value what we have built here, _all_ of our people. But I know how easily it might come tumbling down, even with Bain back here, if we lose one of the stabilising elements prematurely. It is my belief we came dangerously close to that last year when Bard got himself hurt like that. Even striving and stable kingdoms with a successor in place have collapsed when the turnover of power was too quick. I consider Dale far from stable yet, and the kingship more than a title."

For a moment Thranduil let that sink in, the implications of it. Dáin was right, to a certain extent. Dale was young — much unlike Erebor, though they had been refounded at the same time — and while a powerhouse of trade and commerce, what guaranteed its stability for the moment was the reputation of a just and accomplished king. Even Bain had said as much, that he had felt not entirely up to the task of representing Dale in Gondor and that it had been his luck to find men to deal with him fairly. Ten years, even in the minds of mortals, was not a long time at all. 

"You would have me guarantee Bard's wellbeing? I believe, knowing him, that is a lot to ask."

"At the very least you seem to have made him strike a balance, by the time he came back after the harvest Sigrid did not look quite as ready to take matters into her own hands," Dáin admitted grudgingly. "Albeit that might have been for the best, though it would do little for the stability of the region. I don't need to tell you who guarantees that."

No indeed, that would be the combined reputation of their three kingdoms, and even the past decade had seen a decline of bandit attacks and sacked villages. If Thranduil interpreted Dáin's words correctly, they agreed that this would have a profound impact on the war to come. But that was no topic for a feasting night. "It almost sounds like praise from an imp, I shall have to remember this day for ages to come."

"That is your own conceit," Dáin grunted. "Remember my words."

Without so much as waiting for an answer the Dwarf turned to go, leaving Thranduil to the rest of his night. A few moments later he saw Dáin strike a courteous conversation with Núneth and Thranduil narrowed his eyes. 

With a sigh he collected a refill of his wine as he moved through the streets, from the foot of the palace hill down to the southern wall encircling the city. Here the crowds had thinned and as he ascended the parapet, only the guards were near. If Thranduil chose, he could still spot Bard in the city proper where he was moving away from the thick of the revellers but still occupied with his duties. Instead Thranduil looked out across the landscape, south and west to where far in the distance Amon Lanc rose unseen from the plains, with the fortress of Dol Guldur at its summit. Any danger to his own realm would come from there, whereas enemies from the east would hopefully be slowed by Duinhir and the warriors of Dale. But not for decades yet, Núneth had been correct in reminding him. 

Here was the breaking point. By anyone's best estimate they had time: enough time for the Dwarves to grow strong again in the Mountain and for mortal Men to find in themselves the might to defy the coming darkness once more. A generation, maybe two. But it was time nonetheless to live out their lives and make their way as they would. 

Thranduil could still feel Bard's hand slipping from his grip, a ghost sensation from the dream that had been haunting him since winter, because he hadn't known how to interpret it. His knowledge of the future had never altered itself like this before, and it had left him unsettled. But he understood it now. He had made his decision long before Núneth had outmanoeuvred and Dáin had accosted him, and he knew he should have realised it but for the same overindulgence in his duty of which he had accused Bard over the years. The future had changed along with that decision, with the choice to remain in Dale during the year and only return to the Woodland Realm with Bard in the winter.

The moon had completed most of its arch across the sky when the air around him took on a different quality. But this was familiar, and Thranduil didn't react until Bard threaded their fingers together, palms sliding against each other. When he did turn his head, Bard looked tired but happy enough and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his mouth. These were quiet moments stolen from what had turned out to be a momentous evening.

Bard chuckled in resignation. "Ithril wants her book back."

"I have my own copy," Thranduil told him breezily, letting a smirk colour his voice. Bard seemed less enthused about having been called out on it, but he didn't protest when Thranduil tugged at his hand to pull him in closer. When they stood chest to chest he cupped Bard's face with his free hand and felt an arm slip around his waist. It only cemented his decision when he rubbed their noses together for a heartbeat and caught Bard's lips in a kiss. Eventually he asked, "What did the Rohirrim have to say?"

Smiling Bard kissed him again briefly, but then put enough distance between them to look him in the eye. "Let's say I think Lucan will require an adjustment period. But I also think he's been with Aldarion too long to go back to any other life. From what I can tell it appears most of the Rohirrim have no such plans, either. They don't want to leave their lives here for what might be another insecure future in Rohan, even when Thengel is king."

"Good." Thranduil nodded. That was indeed reassuring to know. When he caught Bard's eyes in the low light he shrugged, indicating that Bard knew very well what that meant. Months ago Thranduil had asked him if he could hold if the Rohirrim decided to return to their homeland. For now that was not a concern anymore; Dale would hold, Erebor was impregnable if not another dragon came to be slain by Bard, and Thranduil had reason to be confident about his own realm. 

After a few minutes Bard stepped away from him, though he kept their hands entwined. When they retired later Thranduil would tell Bard about his plans, about staying in Dale but for the winters when both of them went to the Woodland Realm. It would doubtlessly require some restructuring to the rhythms they both kept, but he doubted that would present a problem. 

Now Bard shot him a quizzical smile and squeezed their joint hands before scrutinising the darkness in the far distance. "Anything that should worry us?"

"No." Thranduil shook his head. He knew that Bard spoke of what the night hid from them, but he chose to interpret it in a broader sense. To emphasise his answer, he pressed a kiss to Bard's temple, below where the gold circle of the crown sat on his brow and added, "Nothing at all."

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! All done.
> 
> This also finishes the series! Thanks for sticking with me!


End file.
